


Letters to Ithaca

by Aurelia_Combeferre



Series: A Coterie that Became Historic -the 1830s AU [12]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Attempted Sexual Assault, Ballroom Dancing, Bathing/Washing, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Diplomacy, Drug Use, England (Country), Espionage, Explicit Sex, F/M, Feminism, Hurt/Comfort, International intrigue, Italian Unification, Italy, Letters, Long-Distance Relationship, Married Sex, NSFW, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Queen Victoria - Freeform, Road Trip, Romance, Rumors, Travel, Victorian England, carlist spain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 78
Words: 236,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23140417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurelia_Combeferre/pseuds/Aurelia_Combeferre
Summary: The events of the successful revolution of 1832 and the institution of the Second French Republic have a ripple effect throughout Europe. 10 years later, several countries are going topsy turvy, and foreign relations are getting strained. To help resolve this, the French diplomatic corps dispatches some of its youngest, best and most radical to help smooth things over. As a result, Enjolras gets a sensitive mission to the Mediterranean, while Eponine gets a dispatch to England. When ghosts of the past collide with the problems of the present, will France's dynamic (or notorious) duo make it through?
Relationships: Bahorel/Bahorel's Laughing Mistress (Les Misérables), Bossuet Laigle/Original Female Character(s), Combeferre (Les Misérables)/Original Female Character(s), Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Éponine Thénardier, Feuilly/Original Female Character, Grantaire/Original Female Character(s), Jean Prouvaire/Azelma Thénardier, Joly/Musichetta
Series: A Coterie that Became Historic -the 1830s AU [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/279021
Comments: 508
Kudos: 35





	1. The Summons

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Finally it’s here. The fic set in 1842, some 10 years after the opening of the WAMP verse. I do not own any of Victor Hugo’s characters, Patrick O’Brian’s characters (or their movie renditions) or historical figures. I just like thinking of “what ifs” involving them. Nor do I own the different songs, poems and folklore quoted here—they all belong to their respective countries. I have also taken plenty of liberties with history: some events of the 1840s take place differently, and new ones occur as a result of the events of the previous stories.

**Chapter 1: The Summons**

Although much had changed in Paris through the years after the revolution of 1830, a few of the older streets of the Latin Quarter retained a sense of idyll that continually inspired poetry and song among its residents. One of these was the Rue Guisarde near the Marche Saint-Germain, which retained a few of the sedate and august courtyards of some of its older households alongside the more ebullient homes of the younger newcomers. It was on this street, where on one crisp March afternoon, a woman of about twenty and seven years could be seen singing to herself as she balanced her market basket on her hip. Although she was dressed simply in a blue straight cut dress and apron, with her auburn hair hidden by her bonnet trimmed in black ribbon, she was not a maid or domestic; in fact the way she walked made it clear that she was the lady of one of the homes.

Her voice was a little raspy, but was still merry as she sang:

‘ _Knights of the round table_

_Let’s taste if the wine is good_

_Let’s taste see, yes , yes, yes_

_Let’s taste see, no, no no!’_

In her reverie, she kicked aside a pebble which soon lodged in her shoe. “Oh, bother that!” she muttered as she stopped to shake the offending rock out. As she looked up again she saw a carriage making the turn into the Rue Guisarde. “What, some grand swell coming to visit?” she asked, breaking into a faster run so as to reach home ahead of this conveyance.

She arrived at the gate of 9 Rue Guisarde a few seconds before the carriage stopped at the curb. “Good afternoon. Who have you come to visit?” she said, quickly hiding her market basket behind her with one arm while her free hand made quick work of smoothing down her dress.

“Only to deliver a letter, Eponine,” replied the carriage’s lone occupant. “It’s only me, Justine, and I cannot stay long,” she added as she alighted. She was dressed with some more splendor than her friend, with the skirt of her puce dress slightly more bouffant as per the latest fashions and her bonnet trimmed more gaily.

“And yet with such style!” Eponine Enjolras _nee_ Thenardier exclaimed. That was one thing that had not changed in the years since both she and Justine had become residents of this merry quartier. “You came by carriage from the Rue des Macons for this?”

“I got this letter from the diplomats’ offices, from my brother,” Justine Stendhal _nee_ Lafontaine replied, producing a sealed letter from some fold of her skirts . “He said to hand it to you and only you, in person.”

“How curious!” Eponine whispered as she broke the seal and unfolded the note. Carefully written in a firm script were these words:

_March 7, 1842_

_To: Citizenness E. Enjolras_

_9 Rue Guisarde_

_Dear Citizenness,_

_We hope this letter finds you well and in a position to look kindly on an urgent request. Your skills are needed for a matter of diplomacy that requires absolute delicacy. I hope you are amenable to my calling on you tomorrow morning to discuss this further._

_Respectfully,_

  1. _Lafontaine_



Despite the fine paper and elaborate seals that accompanied this missive, it was all that its recipient could do to keep a straight face. “If delicacy is what they are looking for, then the diplomats are seeking the wrong person!” Eponine laughed as she folded the note once more.

“My brother said you would say something like that, so that is why he told me to give the letter personally,” Justine said with a shrug.

‘ _Because he knows I won’t say anything untoward around her,’_ Eponine thought, biting her lip once more. In truth, if it had not been for her long-standing friendship with Justine, she might have dismissed the missive outright. “Did he say anything more?” she asked the younger woman.

Justine shook her head. “Only to request your consideration.”

“Ah, I s’pose he means to demand it?”

“You know how he and the other functionaries can be.”

Eponine sighed as she put the letter in her basket. “I will give him an earful for making you come all this way when you should be with your girls at home,” she said.

Justine’s eyes widened with horror. “Eponine, be gentle.”

“Only if he does not prove so trying!” Eponine said. ‘ _Which he ends up becoming after a few minutes, and on a good day at that!’_ she thought as she bid Justine goodbye and then headed into her own home.

As she entered the front room, Eponine could not hear any footsteps, voices or any sign of the other inhabitants of the house. ‘ _Which means they are up to something,’_ she thought as she quietly took off her coat and shucked off her shoes. She carried her basket through to the kitchen, ignoring the slight chill creeping through her stocking feet. Through the kitchen window she caught sight of a group of youngsters crouched behind a bush. Four of them were boys: two already mostly grown, and the other two very young. The fifth was a girl in a dress that had been pink earlier that day but was now the color of mud. In the middle of the yard stood a rolled-up paper tube attached to a white string trailing along the ground.

Eponine quickly opened the kitchen door just as one of the older youngsters darted out from the hiding place, holding a lit match. On seeing her, the miscreant quickly dropped the match and stamped it out. “It was only an experiment, Ponine!” the boy said quickly.

“Yes, and one I s’pose would have woken up the whole neighborhood either with the sound or the fire?” Eponine asked, putting her hands akimbo as she narrowed her eyes at her youngest brother. “Really now. Jacques?”

“There wasn’t much of the powder,” Jacques Thenardier said. He gestured to his older brother, who was now emerging from the bush with a guilty expression on his face. “He measured it out correctly, he said.”

“I did try, and it’s more for the smoke and the sound anyway,” Neville said. Like Jacques he was still in the clothes he had worn earlier today to school, albeit a bit rumpled.

“And what if it had gone wrong? Who would have had to answer to it?” Eponine scolded. She suppressed a shudder at the smell of saltpeter as she went to dismantle the contraption. “This string will not do though; it’s soaked through with the ground,” she said loudly. 

“I told you it wouldn’t work that way, Laure!” one of the younger boys called from behind the bush.

‘What, it was that way in the picture in a book!” the little girl hollered. “You shut up, Julien!”

“Watch your language, Laure. You three come out of there too,” Eponine called. She sighed deeply on seeing her own three children all in varying states of dishevelment; only the youngest Etienne had stopped at smearing food all over his shirt, while the older two Laure and Julien had gone as far as wiping their muddy hands all over their clothes. “You’re not supposed to play with gunpowder. You can end up burning down the house or hurting yourselves that way,” she scolded.

“But won’t the paper stop it, Maman?” Laure asked.

“Not if the wind catches it, then where would we be?” Eponine said, reaching over to keep Etienne from sticking a finger into his mouth. “All of you better wash up and start with your assignments while I get dinner prepared.”

Etienne, being only two years old, looked at Eponine imploringly with large dark eyes. “Maman, don’t want wash!”

“Oh no, but that is just what you need,” Eponine pointed out as she scooped up the toddler and bringing him into the house. It was all she could do not to look at the basket with the letter still inside. ‘ _Till tomorrow then’_ she thought as she brought her son upstairs to wash his face and change his attire while the other children managed their own ablutions.

After getting Etienne cleaned up, Eponine rushed downstairs to quickly straighten up her translating desk in the house’s front room study, then off to the larder. “I s’pose I’ll have to get some coffee or something good to drink for tomorrow’s guest,” she muttered as she took stock of what foodstuffs were on hand . She pulled some bacon and salt pork from the larder, then set these out on the kitchen table. After chopping and rinsing out the pork, she reached into her market basket for some beans, vegetables and bouquet garni herbs. She set the beans and meats into a pot of water to simmer while she paced the kitchen for a few moments, mulling over the note. ‘ _What can it be about?’_ she asked, putting the missive in her pocket. Perhaps it had something to do with a paper or two that had passed her translating desk lately; it was common for the diplomats to ask her for assistance with such, but not usually couched in such cryptic terms.

As she went to the larder to decide which cheese to bring out for this unexpected visit, she did not hear the footsteps running about upstairs and in the front room, nor the sound of the house’s front door opening. She suddenly felt a warm hand on her shoulder, nearly making her jump. “Antoine! I didn’t know you were home!” she exclaimed once she had caught herself and turned to face this newcomer.

“I thought you’d gone out; I didn’t see you in the study, but the children all said you were busy,” Antoine Enjolras replied. He had left his coat at the door and was now just in his shirtsleeves, as he was wont to do at the end of the day. “Is something the matter?”

“Only this bit of foolishness that is Auguste Lafontaine dropping by for a visit tomorrow,” Eponine replied, placing her hands on his shoulders. Despite her crossness at this impending matter, she could not resist smiling at the sight of her golden-haired husband. Even after all these years he had still retained his charm and elegance, combining these with the sureness of a man who had reached a position of authority and distinction before the age of thirty-six. It was always enough to send a warmth through Eponine’s entire being, more so when she clasped his hand to hand him the letter. “What do you think of it?”

Enjolras’ eyebrows shot up after a moment. “This then, might interest you. It is from Feuilly,” he said as he brought out a note from a pocket in his waistcoat. 

_March 7, 1842_

_Enjolras,_

_If you can be spared for a few minutes tomorrow, may I please visit at the Palais de Justice in the morning? There is a political matter concerning the recent developments in the Mediterranean needing your intervention._

  1. _Feuilly_



“He is only a little more straightforward than Lafontaine!” Eponine exclaimed, glancing down when she felt Enjolras’ hand at her waist. “But did he at least say what it was about?”

“In brief: discontent is fomenting in the southern climes,” Enjolras said.

Eponine snorted. “Countries under a cassock, as you would say?”

Enjolras colored slightly at the use of this old turn of phrase from years gone by. “Yes. I believe Feuilly will explain more of this later when we meet”

“He is a friend and always good to talk with. It is Lafontaine I am worried about, and I hope we will not have to entertain him long tomorrow.”

“Feuilly is a diplomat as much as he is, and I do not see any difference in how we should welcome him.” Enjolras brought up his hand to touch the back of Eponine’s neck lightly. “There is still time to get a few things from the market.”

Eponine smiled at this familiar gesture. “I s’pose we could use a little more cheese and fine bread for breakfast tomorrow, and maybe after,” she said at length.

Enjolras nodded slowly. “I will see you later then,” he said, clasping her hand before quitting the area.

Eponine watched him go and waited for his footsteps to fade and the front door to close before letting out a sigh. “What sort of fix are we in for now, Antoine?” she wondered aloud before returning to her cooking.


	2. A Ripple Across Europe

**Chapter 2: A Ripple Across Europe**

Mornings at the Thenardier-Enjolras household were always chaotic, what with the master and the mistress of the place rushing to ready the youngsters for the school day while seeing to their own preparations for work. The morning of March 8 found Enjolras in a hurry to tie his cravat and pack his satchel only after the Thenardier brothers along with Laure and Julien left for school. He had only succeeded with knotting his cravat just as a knocking sounded on the front door. “Eponine, could you please see who it is?” he called from their bedroom.

“I’m still cleaning up after Etienne!” Eponine hollered from downstairs.

‘ _So much for that,’_ Enjolras sighed. By the time he arrived downstairs, the knocking had grown more impatient. “This is an early hour, Citizen Lafontaine,” Enjolras said by way of greeting as he opened the front door.

Auguste Lafontaine, a portly man with a receding hairline, paused to catch himself, having knocked till he was red in the face from the chilly day and frustration. “Good morning Citizen Enjolras. I have come to call on your wife regarding a matter of importance.”

“She is presently occupied. Do you mind waiting?” Enjolras asked, glancing over his shoulder to see if Eponine would emerge from the kitchen or the downstairs washroom.

“This matter cannot wait. I have an appointment at the Hotel De Ville,” Lafontaine said, puffing out his chest. Even when drawing himself up to his full height he was not quite able to see eye to eye with Enjolras. “Tell her that I must speak with her immediately.”

“I need not be told when you are speaking so loudly,” Eponine called, now making her appearance in the hall. She had just hastily tied a scarf to keep her tresses in order, having had no time to dress it to her preference. With her was little Etienne, still clinging to her skirt. “What is it you wish?”

“You received my missive yesterday, Citizenness Enjolras?” Lafontaine asked.

“Yes, and we will discuss it in the study,” Eponine said. She met Enjolras’ eyes and mouthed, ‘ _Stay for a bit,’_ before facing Lafontaine again. “Will that suffice?”

“If it allows for discretion,” Lafontaine said, not hiding his irritation.

“You can play in the front room, _petit,”_ Eponine said to Etienne, nudging him gently with her palm towards the sitting room. “Maman and Papa have to speak with our guest.”

In the meantime, Enjolras opened the door to the study that served as Eponine’s main translating room as well as his own library. This place was filled with volumes on a variety of subjects, and was fitted up comfortably with a large desk and soft chair for its main occupant, as well as a chaise for any short naps. Enjolras quickly got another seat from the dining room, leaving Eponine to take her usual seat while Lafontaine sat on the chaise.

Eponine smoothed out her green dress as she sat down. “What was that message about?”

Lafontaine cleared his throat as he handed another sealed envelope to Eponine. “The envoys to England require your participation in a special mission there. The young queen is rather uneasy about some social developments, and some effort is needed on our part to smooth relations over with our old friend.”

‘ _The word ‘friend’ being used liberally,’_ Enjolras noted silently even as he watched Eponine turning the envelope over in her hands as if weighing it. “Is something wrong?” he asked her.

Eponine’s brow furrowed as if she was deep in thought. “Will not a translator do for that sort of thing? It sounds like it is a simple miscommunication. ” 

“That is not the case, for it is the developments concerning women and their standing here in France that concern the queen,” Lafontaine clarified.

Eponine’s eyes widened. “What, now Frenchwomen put Englishwomen to shame?”

“So it is said in some quarters,” Lafontaine admitted. “We are agents of Progress and we must convince the Queen and her people that we are truly that, and not agents of chaos.”

“By sending me over there to explain it in person, I s’pose?” Eponine said. “Is that all I am needed for there in England?”

“It is a mission of culture and trade, so of course your work as a translator will still be indispensable there.”

“For how long?”

“Two to three months, including travel there and back again.”

Eponine’s jaw dropped. “Why that is enough time for me to finish translating a dozen pamphlets or perhaps five long books!”

“You will be compensated very well for this,” Lafontaine said flippantly. “And since this is in April, you will not want for company in England. I hear the Combeferres will be there too for a presentation at a conference.”

“Yes, my own brother is set to join them after he does his bac exam and graduation. And I suppose I can bring the other children too, as a good change for them.”

Lafontaine looked down uneasily. “Citizenness, for a mission of such sensitivity, it is best that the children should not be present.”

“What!”

“Surely you have tutors and governesses to manage them?”

“Neither.” Eponine bit her lip even as a knock sounded on the door. “Excuse me for a moment,” she said, springing up to leave the study. 

Lafontaine looked now at Enjolras keenly. “Please, Citizen Enjolras, you can ask her to accede to this very important request. For France.”

“I will not press her to do so if it goes against her better judgment,” Enjolras answered.

“You are her husband!”

“Yes, and she is a translator in her own right, while I am a local magistrate.”

Lafontaine gritted his teeth. “What use is it if you cannot raise her patriotic sentiments?”

‘ _He is one to talk,’_ Enjolras thought, fixing Lafontaine with a steely glare. He had only a moment to do so before Eponine returned with a visitor in tow. “Good day Feuilly. I thought we were to meet at the Palais de Justice,” Enjolras greeted this more welcome guest.

“Yes, but I got wind of Citizen Lafontaine heading here, and figured that it would cause a stir, so I changed course,” Feuilly replied, doffing his hat which had a black cockade attached to it. He had long left behind the rough clothes and mien of his days as a fan maker, but he retained the urgency and quick gaze that had made him so valuable in the Fauborg Saint-Antoine. “Good day to you, Citizen Lafontaine,” he added, seeing his colleague.

Lafontaine glared at Feuilly. “Your coming is very inopportune. I was hoping to convince Citizenness Enjolras that she is needed for the mission to England.”

Feuilly nodded as he exchanged knowing looks with Eponine and Enjolras. “I must bring this to your consideration first,” He brought a missive out of his coat and handed it to Enjolras. “The envoys at Spain and Italy want your help since they are being consulted regarding what reforms can be made to appease the radical factions as well as French migrants living there and espousing our Republic’s principles. The consuls each requested for you to assist in this exchange of insight.”

Enjolras opened the missive, which turned out to be a pair of sealed notes from the countries’ respective consulates, telling him in plain terms of the need for a ‘ _hand and mind knowledgeable of our Constitution and its principles, both of which will surely help bring the light of reform and equality to our neighbors_.’ As he folded the letters, he saw Feuilly watching him intently. “And for how long will this be?”

“Around three months. I think the diplomatic corps can arrange for you to travel with an assistant of your choosing since there is much to be done,” Feuilly said. His eyes were grave as he looked at his friends. “I would see to it myself but I am to head to Poland soon and of course bring Leonor and our Sophie with me. And I wish not to importune you, since it more than I should rightfully ask out of you, as a friend and colleague, but the need is very great. A misstep could cost us our diplomatic ties with these countries particularly if it is perceived that France is promoting an overthrow or coup, or if their respective rulers become reactionary and make the climate unsavory for resident and alien alike.”

Lafontaine curled his lip. “By calling Citizen Enjolras away, you will obligate his wife to stay here in Paris. This will not do, as she is needed in England.”

“I will decide on that, if you will give me some time,” Eponine chimed in. She looked first at Lafontaine, then at Feuilly, then at her own husband. “I s’pose I can give you an answer if you give me a day to think it over and talk it out as well.”

“That would be best,” Enjolras concurred, putting a hand on Eponine’s arm and feeling her lean into his touch. “We will let you know what we have decided.”

“Thank you,” Feuilly said with a nod as he grabbed Lafontaine’s arm to steer him out of the study and the house.

Enjolras looked back at Eponine as she stepped away to sit on the chaise. He watched as she opened her own missive. “What is inside?” he asked as he sat next to her.

“Papers a bit like those that were in yours,” she replied, producing also several folded documents. “Some of them are _originals_ in English, so it will take me some time to get through.”

“A single day, you mean.”

“Half, I s’pose, if Etienne lets me undisturbed for a bit. It is too bad you cannot take him with you to the Palais de Justice.”

Enjolras smirked at the idea of their two-year old running wild around the offices of this ancient, moldering building. “I will also let you know what I have decided, later.”

“Oh Antoine, it is certain you are going to Spain and Italy.”

“I never said anything to that effect.”

Eponine clasped his hand as it came up to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face, then pulled him in for a brief kiss. He would have pulled her closer to keep her there, but she stopped him with a finger on his lips. “Not many men have done what you have done or have seen what you have seen-----and have the means to talk about it without putting an audience to sleep.”

“This is why we have diplomats,” Enjolras pointed out.

“Yes, and none of them had a hand in making the Constitution or arguing for it,” Eponine replied. “Besides, you have never been out of France before and I s’pose you would enjoy it.”

“Then, what of you?”

“I s’pose being in the back of a cart as my father headed to Waterloo might count for something. It is in Belgium after all.”

‘ _Can’t expect less from my father-in-law,’_ Enjolras thought wryly as he got to his feet. “I will give you my answer later as well,” he promised.

Eponine smiled at him teasingly. “I know it already, and I know you too well. Now go, before you are late at the Palais de Justice!”

It only took a matter of minutes for Enjolras to finish readying for the day, and to be _en route_ to the Palais de Justice in the middle of Paris. Even as he worked on a particularly difficult case review in the silence of his office, the question of going to Spain and Italy still weighed on his mind. At length, he stood up and went to the window of his office, which had a view of the northwest bank of the Seine, from the Place du Chatelet, the Hotel de Ville and as far as the Fauborg Saint-Antoine.

‘ _Ten years ago, the place was ridden with cholera and desperation,’_ he thought as he took in this view. Now the sun shone brightly on this old neighborhood, people moved freely with little fear of disease or apprehension, and what concerns arose were usually quickly resolved. It was not so, he knew, in other parts of the continent.

Before he could ponder this further, a knock sounded on his office door. “Come in, Courfeyrac,” Enjolras said, already recognizing the sound.

“I spoke with Feuilly this morning and he said he would visit you,” Courfeyrac said by way of greeting as he strode into the office and situated himself atop a sturdy desk. Though the years of had made him a little stouter, he was still very much the same chestnut-haired gallant so popular in the courts. Like Enjolras and their friends, he had a sign of mourning on his attire, namely a black ribbon pinned to his cuff. “It is clear you have discussed some diplomatic developments.”

“Which he wishes for me to participate in,” Enjolras explained. “It is the matter of our ties with Spain and Italy.”

“I know you have no taste for monks and their habits, but the trip would do you good,” Courfeyrac said. “You always said we must broaden our horizons, and you of all people should be no exception to that!”

“There is much to be done here, for France.”

“France with its thousand magistrates, and you and I merely two of them. You did always say your allegiance was with this country and not to this profession.” 

“That is true,” Enjolras said as he took a seat. “This work in the Ministry of Justice, yes, can be delegated but must be done so properly.”

Courfeyrac grinned before setting a stray paper aside. “Then what still weighs on you?”

“It is not only work that has to be arranged.”

“Then it is your domestic affairs you are worried about? I never thought I would see that day it would disturb you so deeply.”

Enjolras smiled ruefully at this observation. “Eponine also received a summons to join a mission to England She will be more than a translator there, but she will represent the cause of women’s advancement, which has yet to come to full fruition in England, or for that matter in other parts of the continent.”

Courfeyrac whistled knowingly. “To speak to the Queen?”

“Yes it is likely.”

Courfeyrac nodded, understanding the meaning in these words. “I would not wish to be in either of your places; I cannot part from my boy Armand for longer than a few nights, while you and Eponine will have to be away for weeks,” he said after a few moments.

“Difficult but necessary when great things must be done.”

“If there is any assistance you need to prepare for the journeys, do let me know.”

“I will. Thank you very much,” Enjolras said gratefully before they moved on to talking about other matters in the courts. Following Courfeyrac taking his leave a quarter of an hour later, Enjolras returned his attention to the review he had been composing. This and other such tasks were enough to keep him occupied for the next hours, until he heard the bells of Notre Dame tolling for Vespers.

Night had fallen by the time Enjolras reached 9 Rue Guisarde. As soon as he stepped in the front hall, he was greeted enthusiastically by his children. “What have you three been up to today?” he asked as he scooped up Etienne. “And where is your Maman?”

“Mar-ket!” Etienne lisped, pointing to the door.

“I did well in my numbers today, Papa, and was top of the test,” Julien said proudly as he held up a note from the schoolteacher. “Uncle Neville said he would teach me more tricks with them, when he gets back later from the Combeferres.”

Enjolras smiled as he read the note on his oldest son’s latest achievement; mathematics did not come so easily to this child, and it had been a struggle for some years to get him to tolerate the subject. “A job well done. Have you shown this to your Maman?”

“Not yet, I am waiting till she returns.”

Laure tugged on her father’s sleeve. “Uncle Jacques wants to speak to you about something, he’s in the sitting room,” she reported in a rather serious tone.

“I see,” Enjolras said as he handed Etienne back to his siblings, then headed to the sitting room. There, he saw young Jacques Thenardier lying on a settee, deeply engrossed in a book of maps. “Good evening to you, Jacques,” he greeted.

Jacques quickly set the book aside and sat up, looking more gangly than ever in his stocking feet. “Is it true that you will be going to Spain and Italy this summer?” he asked.

“I received the message, but where did you learn of it?” Enjolras asked, mildly surprised at this query.

“Gavroche, who heard it from Bahorel, who heard from Feuilly about being here today,” Jacques said, counting out these connections on his fingers.

“We spoke about it, but I still have to discuss this thoroughly with your sister.”

“Yes, and she is going to England.”

“And you heard that from?”

“Neville, who heard from Combeferre, who heard from that ambassador Lafontaine.”

‘ _So much for discretion,’_ Enjolras thought, making a mental note to mention this to Eponine later in the day. “I will write to my parents in Aix to have you and the little ones stay there for the summer, till either Eponine or myself can return,” he said at length.

“Aix is very nice, yes, but may I please ask a favor instead?”

“You may.”

“Let me be your assistant in this mission. I heard you are allowed one.” Jacques said. “Neville is only a little older than me, and he will be joining the Combeferres in England. Other boys my age make themselves useful to their families or businesses during the holidays. I think it is about time I do so as well.”

“Are you aware what you are asking, Jacques?” Enjolras asked. “This is not merely to be a pleasure tour or cruise. What work you have will be difficult; you will have to comport yourself properly in front a variety of persons in precarious situations, in addition to keeping up with papers and errands.”

The boy nodded resolutely. “I can learn.”

“We shall see,” Enjolras said. ‘ _He is fifteen and almost a man now, a very young one, and more sensible than I was at that age,’_ he mused even as he heard the front door open. He excused himself and stepped out into the hall, where Eponine was hanging up her coat and her bonnet on the hooks by the door.

She turned first to look at him with a smile that was grave at first but soon reached her eyes when their gazes locked. “How was your day, Antoine?”

“Well enough. And yours?” Enjolras said, reaching for her still gloved hand. Even through the knit glove he could feel every scar and callus of her palm and fingers, both from touch as well as from memory.

Eponine squeezed Enjolras’ hand tightly. “I s’pose we have to talk about it,” she said. “It will be fine, you’ll see.”

“We’ll be sure of it,” Enjolras said as he opened for them both the door to the study.


	3. The Way Things Are Done Elsewhere

**Chapter 3: The Way Things Are Done Elsewhere**

The mid-morning of the 9th of March found Eponine in the neighborhood of the Marais. ‘ _This house never looked good in mourning,’_ she observed as she approached the door of 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire. All the fine draperies of this grand residence had been switched out for somber black damask, and no sounds of music came from the windows. Eponine frowned on finding a black ribbon wreath on the doorway; the material was the same as the crape trimming her bonnet as well as the document bag she carried. Nevertheless, she knocked on the door twice, as she was accustomed to do on happier days. 

The stocky footman Basque opened the door slightly at first. “Citizenness Pontmercy is sitting in the parlor,” he said by way of greeting as he opened the door more widely to let Eponine into the front hall.

“Thank you Citizen,” Eponine said in a low voice. ‘ _If I called him by his proper name, I’d never hear the end of it from old Citizen Gillenormand,’_ she mused as she looked around the dim hall. The last thing she needed now was to deal with the garrulous centenarian’s harangues and reprimands on ‘the way things were done nowadays’. She doffed her bonnet but did not undo her shawl against the chill that seemed to have permeated indoors ‘ _I hope they have fires at least upstairs for the children,’_ she could not help thinking.

She stepped quietly into the parlor, which was illuminated only by a few candles and a low fire in the hearth. A solitary figure garbed entirely in black sat on a couch, holding a book but not seeming to read it. This person stirred after a moment. “Eponine, what are you doing here?” she asked in a soft, almost halting voice.

“I was out, so I thought I’d see you, Cosette and how you were doing,” Eponine said, taking a seat near her friend. She set a small bag on the table. “I brought some sweets from that nice shop near the Hotel de Ville. Are you well?”

“Only a little, but thank you for asking,” Cosette Pontmercy _nee_ Fauchelevent said, managing a slight smile. Her dress made entirely of fine bombazine was still elegant and not detracting in the slightest from her renowned beauty. Although the weak light made her face only seem grave as befitting one in mourning, a closer inspection showed the circles under her eyes.

“I worry you might fall ill; it’s been cold lately. How are the children and Citizen Pontmercy?” Eponine asked concernedly.

“They are managing. It’s a good thing they are all here and it will be the summer holidays soon enough, so it will make time easier to bear,” Cosette said. She reached out to touch the bonnet that Eponine carried. “You’re still wearing mourning?”

“He was a father to me too,” Eponine said. ‘ _Of all the people this winter could have taken, why did it have to be Cosette’s father?’_ she wondered. She sighed as she caught sight of a pair of silver candlesticks in a position of honor on the mantel. “You had them moved here?”

“Papa would have wanted me, Marius, and the children to remember,” Cosette said. She glanced towards the door and looked down after a moment. “Sometimes, even if it’s been nearly a month since he passed, I think he is just in the next room. Just out of sight, not really gone.”

Eponine clasped Cosette’s hands just to press a handkerchief in them. “I will make sure to light a candle for him every day, before I go,” she muttered.

Cosette wiped her face before looking at her friend incredulously. “Going? To where?”

Eponine cringed for a moment. ‘ _I should have said it better,’_ she berated herself as she sat up straight. “I’m being sent to England, with the diplomats. We have to speak to the queen there about how Frenchwomen live and how it might do some good for Englishwomen as well. I’ll be there at the same time as Combeferre and Claudine, and they will bring my brother Neville along too for their scientific convention in London.”

“When do you leave?”

“Right before my birthday, next month. I only found out today when I went to the Hotel de Ville to tell them that I’d accepted the assignment. I’d light a candle for your father too while I am away, but there’s no telling if I have to travel in a coach by night, how horrid!”

Cosette smiled ruefully. “Papa almost brought me there, ten years ago. And now you are the one going so far away.”

‘ _Should I really go when she is in such a state?’_ Eponine wondered, but she bit her lip to still these words which she knew would only upset her friend further. “It is just for two months, Cosette. And I will write every day or two. If you need me to bring back something useful for you or your family, I’ll be glad to get it.”

“Books would be nice; I’ll ask Marius if there are any titles he wants or if he would recommend for the little ones here at home and those in the shelter at the Rue de l’Ouest.” Cosette took a deep breath but at last something of her smile finally reached her eyes. “Thank you for this, Eponine. If there is anything I can lend you for the trip, please let me know. Claudine too is free to borrow if she needs anything.”

Eponine smiled at the mention of this other dear friend. “I’ll make sure to let her know.”

Cosette nodded just as the parlor door opened. “It’s fine, Marius. Eponine is just visiting,” she said to a man who peered into the room.

Marius Pontmercy blinked before nodding upon recognizing their guest. Like Cosette he was also dressed in mourning, but this had the effect of making him look more pallid than ever. “It’s good to see you, Eponine, especially at this time,” he blustered.

“Yes, Marius, I was just telling Cosette that I will be going to England for a few weeks,” Eponine explained.

“At the same time the Combeferres will be there?”

“Yes. But it isn’t for a vacation, it’s to help some diplomats.”

At the mention of the diplomats, Marius’ brow furrowed. “They need more translators at the Hotel de Ville?”

“Well, it isn’t that,” Eponine said. “Meaning translating isn’t my only reason for being there.”

Marius nodded. “I can give you some pamphlets about England, as part of preparation. They do things differently there. Could you give me a few days to get them together?”

“Oh Marius, how different can our etiquette here in France be from what they prefer in England?” Cosette asked.

“Rather different. Cosette, should I bring your tea in?” Marius asked.

“Ah yes, I forgot about that,” Cosette said.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Marius said before ducking back out into the hall and hurrying to the kitchen, judging by his footsteps.

Cosette sighed fondly before looking at her friend. “I am so excited for you, Eponine. I know it will be your first time to be away from France, so it will be quite the experience.”

“I always thought it would be you, only I imagined you’d go to Rome or someplace warmer.”

“That would be nice, maybe someday.”

After some tea while catching up on their respective children and other news, Eponine took her leave of the Pontmercys and headed back to the Latin Quartier. Instead of heading straight home, she detoured to the neighborhood of the Odeon, heading to an apartment building on the Rue de Conde. She let herself in and headed up to the second floor, where she knocked on the third door in this hall. “Azelma! I’m back for Etienne!” she called.

The door swung open to reveal a dark-haired woman who had dragged with her an elaborately bejeweled robe. “I thought you’d be back in the afternoon, Ponine,” Azelma Prouvaire _nee_ Thenardier said.

“I decided not to take too long at the Hotel de Ville, and I thought I’d stop in on Cosette and see how she is doing,” Eponine explained as her sister let her into the apartment. She held out her arms for Etienne, who was perched on a stool while munching a pastry. “Were you good to Aunt Zelma today, _petite?”_ she asked as she scooped up the child.

Etienne nodded, grinning widely to show his teeth smeared with custard cream. “Good!”

“I hope you don’t mind but I had to give him sweets to placate him, since we need this robe for rehearsal later,” Azelma said, indicating the costume she had been putting together. “How was Cosette today?”

“A little better than when we saw her last.”

“So, what was it you were at the Hotel De Ville for?”

“I had to get papers for a trip,” Eponine said calmly. 

One of Azelma’s eyebrows shot up. “Where are you going?”

“England.”

“You’re going there, while Enjolras is going to Spain and Italy?”

The question was like a thunderbolt to Eponine’s ears. “Where did you hear of that?” she finally asked as she sat down and placed Etienne on her lap.

“From Jehan of course,” Azelma said with a shrug. “Who heard from Courfeyrac, who as we know works with your husband at the Palais de Justice.”

‘ _I s’pose that is the end of being discreet,’_ Eponine thought, using her handkerchief to wipe off the sugar from Etienne’s face, despite the latter’s protests and squirming. “At least I’m not going to England in winter. Remember when Feuilly had to be there, at around this time of the year? He said it was so awful!”

Azelma nodded. “You know the language, and that’s good for you. But does Enjolras know any word of Spanish or Italian?”

“I s’pose he can learn, and French is spoken by many people.”

“It’s not quite the same. Jehan can tell you as much.”

“It won’t be just him learning. Jacques will join Antoine as his assistant.”

Azelma burst out laughing. “Jacques?! As in our brother? Is this a joke?”

“Jacques is fifteen years old. We were useful, well at least as useful as we could manage to be with our parents, when we were that age,” Eponine pointed out.

“That’s different. If it wasn’t for you and me working together, our parents would have found themselves in the streets more often,” Azelma tugged at a loose string on her handiwork. “You gave Jacques a much better life than we had, and he’s never had to fend for himself before.”

“I s’pose this trip is one way for him to learn, and to see the world,” Eponine said. “Is there something you wish for me to bring back from England?”

Azelma’s expression looked thoughtful for a moment. “Would some cloth or laces for costumes be too much? I mean to make something special for a play that Jehan is collaborating on.”

‘ _I’ll have to think of a way to transport a bolt of cloth if I find one,’_ Eponine decided even as she nodded. Seeing that Azelma was anxious to get back to work, Eponine quickly headed out with Etienne in tow. After giving her son some lunch at home, she sat down for what she hoped would be a quiet afternoon of translations and keeping Etienne entertained when he wasn’t down for a nap. 

She was deeply engrossed in translating a series of stories from a small literary paper when she heard a knock. ‘ _That is funny, Etienne is still asleep,’_ she thought, glancing at the child who’d dozed off on the chaise. She headed to the front door and opened it a crack, then more widely when she recognized who was there. “Claudine! Come in!”

“I hope I didn’t come at a bad time, Eponine,” Claudine Combeferre _nee_ Andreas greeted, adjusting her grip on the bulging bag of books and papers she carried as she followed Eponine into the sitting room. She set down her bag before wiping her horn-rimmed spectacles. “Is it true what Francois and I heard from Courfeyrac? You’re going to be in England too?”

“Yes. I s’pose we can find time to see each other when you’re there,” Eponine said eagerly.

“I will make sure to spare a dinner or two with you and your delegation. Maybe we can even watch a show, if we are so lucky,” Claudine said. Her smile turned pensive as she looked at Eponine again. “I heard they are asking you to speak with the Queen?”

“Yes, about how we women do things here in France,” Eponine replied. “I don’t see why she’d have a problem letting Englishwomen do things like work for equal wages and have their own societies, when she herself is queen because she was born to it.”

“And that’s precisely the problem: she was born to it,” Claudine said sagely. “England has a long tradition of ladies being able to get away with nigh anything, even being the King’s mistress, if they are born high enough.”

“Sounds a bit like France before 1789,” Eponine observed. “But now we do not have a king or a queen. They have monarchs still, and I s’pose that might be part of the problem.”

Claudine nodded. “Although the Queen Victoria herself does not vote in Parliament, she sets the tone for the mores and decisions of that country. Her husband has not been given the title of a king, but rather he is a Prince Consort, which should give you an idea of how he stands politically.”

“But she is said to defer to him?”

“As per example and tradition.”

‘ _How then am I supposed to speak with that?’_ Eponine wondered. She bit her lip as she looked at Claudine. “Will she even listen to someone like me?”

“She will listen to a diplomat, an educated woman, and an intellectual,” Claudine said firmly. “It’s part of her striking some balance, or there will be talk that the kingdom is ruled by the Prince Consort and not her.”

‘ _I hope you’re right,’_ Eponine thought, willing herself to ignore the uneasiness in her gut even as she and Claudine moved to discussing Neville’s joining the Combeferres for their own foray to English soil. The matter still weighed on her mind long after Claudine left for home, up until the close of the day when Neville, Jacques, Laure and Julien returned from school while Enjolras arrived back from work at the Palais de Justice. ‘ _Can I do this, really?’_ she wondered when she finally got up from work to prepare the family’s next meal.

After setting supper to simmer on the stove, Eponine headed to the study to go over some papers. She found Enjolras seated at the desk, having set a letter out to dry. “Still more work for the evening?” she asked, placing her hands on his shoulders.

Enjolras smiled for a moment as he leaned into her touch while giving her space to have a look at the missive. “I will post this letter to Aix, first thing in the morning tomorrow.”

_March 9, 1842_

_9 Rue Guisarde, Paris_

_Father,_

_I trust that this letter will find you, Mother, and the rest of our relatives in good spirits. By this time, I hope that the matter concerning the departments along the coast will be resolved to put the citizenry’s minds at ease._

_Eponine and I must ask a very big favor from you both. We have both been asked to accompany the diplomatic corps to different missions in Europe. Eponine will leave for England on the second of April, while I have been asked to join the delegation to Spain and Italy on the 8 th of that same month. In light of this, may we please ask that Laure, Julien, and Etienne spend the summer with you in Aix until our return in August. As for the rest of the family, Gavroche will remain in Paris due to the nature of his work with the Prefecture. Neville will be joining the Combeferres in England for another presentation to the Royal Society. Jacques has asked to join my delegation._

_I apologize if this request is an imposition or untoward. I await your response, whether in the affirmative or otherwise._

_Your son,_

_Antoine_

“That is such a short letter, for an even shorter answer,” Eponine pointed out.

Enjolras smiled bemusedly. “Which will be?”

“A ‘yes’ of course,” she said. “Your parents are always eager to have us and the children in Aix, especially since it is always them visiting Paris.”

“That is true,” he concurred as he began carefully folding the note. “Did you get the official papers from the Hotel de Ville today?”

Eponine nodded as she sat closer to him. “I read them, I talked with Claudine a bit about how things are in England, and now it doesn’t seem as simple at all. It would be easier for me to speak with the Queen of England if I could only have a way with words, like you do.”

Enjolras was silent for a moment before he reached for her hand. “Words may fall short, but your actions and deeds alongside those of many over these past years will show the Queen and those around her what direction she may have her country step towards in the coming years.” He kissed her brow lightly. “I believe you will do well in this endeavor.”

‘ _How can he always have such faith?’_ Eponine wondered as she looked into his eyes, always so clear and piercing with a fire that never failed to warm her courage. “I hope you’re right about that, Antoine.” She squeezed his hand tightly. “I hope that will be enough.”


	4. Unlooked for Intelligence

**Chapter 4: Unlooked for Intelligence**

_March 15, 1842_

_Dear Antoine,_

_You must know that even if you showed up with only a minute’s notice and deposited your entire household at our doorstep, we would be more than happy to have you all here. Right now, your mother is already preparing the rooms for the children. Should Gavroche find time from his busy work to come and visit, he will be more than welcome to stay for as long as he likes. Likewise, if Neville wishes to follow to Aix after his trip to England or if the journey you will undertake is too trying for Jacques, both are welcome._

_If you and Eponine can be spared to tarry one night or longer when bringing the young ones here, there is much to also discuss._

_Sincerely,_

_Your father_

Even days after this letter’s arrival at the Rue Guisarde, its cryptic close still turned over and over in Enjolras’ mind, even on the afternoon when he and Eponine made their way to the Rue de Pontoise. It was already the 26th of March, and preparations for the summer’s travels were in full swing. One important task for Enjolras and Eponine was to stop by the Prefecture to settle an important matter prior to their respective trips.

As if sensing his reverie, Eponine nudged his arm. “You look a little lost there, Antoine,” she teased. “What’s on your mind today?”

“The letter from my parents,” Enjolras said, keeping his grip on the two book sized boxes he was carrying. 

“Ah, that request to stay one night?”

“Yes. I think that it has something to do with matters in Aix, otherwise they would have made it clear in their message.”

“Maybe you can ask here among the former members of the Courgourde if they have sounded it out in their letters?”

“As expeditious as that is, it might be construed as hearsay. If it was urgent, it would have been also stated clearly.”

She frowned as they reached the headquarters of the Prefecture. “How can a building be so ugly by both day and night?”

“If it is serving as a deterrent after a fashion,” Enjolras replied. He nodded to the guard at the door. “We’re here to see Inspector Bahorel.”

“Go to the third office on the left,” the guard said gruffly. He indicated the boxes that Enjolras had in hand. “Do you have permits for those?”

“That is the very thing we are here to see the Inspector for,” Eponine chimed in.

“And you have spared me the waiting,” Bahorel greeted enthusiastically as he emerged from a room. He motioned to another door in the hallway. “Pity you two were a little tardy, as Gavroche has just left on an errand.”

‘ _He may surprise us yet,’_ Enjolras thought as they entered what he knew to be Bahorel’s office. Like most offices of senior inspectors of the Prefecture, this place was fitted up with a large desk, chairs for interviews, and a large cabinet for personal effects and papers. What made this room rather remarkable were the bold colors of the furnishings as well as the luxurious upholstery of the chairs, all made ‘as a matter of taste’.

Enjolras set down the boxes on the desk and opened them to reveal a brace of pistols in each. “Each carries a single shot,” he said. “We’ll need papers to bring these with us out of France.”

“A step better from those old knock-me-downs,” Eponine said. “It’s only a bit of help since we’ll be traveling by land and quite a bit of sea too in Antoine’s case, and there are pirates about.”

“And highwaymen in England,” Bahorel concurred as he inspected the small arms. “I know that Enjolras will have no problem handling these, but have you practiced with these pistols?”

Eponine’s cheeks flushed red at this query. “Only a little. I won’t have these bounce and firing into the soil, like what happened at the Rue Vaugirard after Joly and Musichetta’s wedding.”

‘ _An incident we all barely escaped from, for simply being unprepared for it,’_ Enjolras recalled ruefully as he took a seat. The mention of that day brought back gruesome images of the entire street turned into a melee thanks to a rogue attack on the wedding cortege. He looked at Eponine, who was demonstrating to Bahorel her handling of one of the pistols. ‘ _She should be just fine even if it comes to that,’_ he told himself.

Suddenly a knock sounded on the office door. “That is surely Gavroche,” Bahorel said with a grin. “Enter!”

“What, and disrupt this merry play?” Gavroche Thenardier quipped as he made his entrance. In the two years since his joining the police force as a detective, he had gained some much-needed bulk and had made several attempts at growing a mustache. He made a bow to his sister and his brother-in-law. “Good day, migrating fowls.”

“You keep that up, Gavroche, I am not bringing back anything for you from England!” Eponine said, cuffing the young detective jokingly.

“Are you going to bring me rain to shine my boots with?” Gavroche asked. “The Italian vapors would be more potent for the task,” he added, looking at Enjolras.

“I do not wish to unleash the miasmas from the canals of Venice here in Paris,” Enjolras replied dryly.

Bahorel cleared his throat. “Was your errand successful?”

At this query, Gavroche’s jovial mien turned grave as he produced a packet from a pocket of his coat. “Questions upon questions in the Italian’s house,” he said. “Ciphers.”

“Found on location?”

“Dropped.”

Enjolras glanced knowingly at Eponine. ‘ _We shouldn’t be here,’_ he thought as he got to his feet. “Perhaps it would be best if we excused ourselves.”

Bahorel nodded. “I will bring these and the permits to your home later today.”

Eponine whistled as she and Enjolras left the Prefecture headquarters. “It looks like Gavroche and Bahorel have found quite the rumpus!”

“It is probably some new scheme they will readily get to the bottom of,” Enjolras said. Since the different criminal networks in Paris had been broken up by a series of successive blows, it was only a matter of time till a new gang would make itself known. ‘ _And once that has come to light, the work of rehabilitation begins anew,’_ he thought as they both left for different quartiers; Eponine to the Fauborg Saint-Antoine for a meeting with some friends from _Les Femmes Pour Egalite et Fraternite_ , while Enjolras went to the journalists’ usual haunt at the Café Bon Vivant.

The café was full on this afternoon, both with its regular patrons as well as a mix of traders, businessmen, politicians, and of course local gossips. Even in this crowd, Enjolras had no difficulty locating a familiar bald head seated alone at a table. “I see you have quitted the miasma of the Palais de Justice for the healthier airs here,” Bossuet called, raising a half full glass of liquor in Enjolras’ direction.

“I was hoping to get some news,” Enjolras said as he took a seat.

“About the Spanish and Italian mission?” Bossuet asked, signaling to the server for a glass of sugar water. “Alas, the Midi birds including of course the Aix cardinal Coutard have flocked to another clime for now.”

Enjolras smirked at this reference to their journalist friend’s ginger hair. “And what brings you here to the Bon Vivant?”

“Waiting for Joly to make his way back from an errand with Grantaire; I know Musichetta is with Eponine now,” Bossuet said. A melancholy look spread over his usually merry face. “I have been talking with Pontmercy and Courfeyrac about what to do to continue Citizen Valjean’s philanthropy. It would entail continuing the beads business—in Citizenness Pontmercy’s name and with her guidance. It is a wonderful thing, and I believe it would ease her mind if we could help continue her father’s innovations and consequently the fruits of it.”

“Is this a business proposition?” Enjolras asked before picking up the beverage that Bossuet had ordered for him.

“An entreaty. If you somehow hear of new ways to make the glass lustrous, as fine as the imitations found in Italy or even perhaps the real article, then please take some notes,” Bossuet said. “It would greatly help.”

“I shall see what I can do,” Enjolras said even as a cheer came from the entrance of the café, where two jovial men had just entered.

Bossuet nodded to the newcomers now approaching the table. “It would appear that your errand has been successful?”

“Yes, even without the Argo,” Grantaire said with a grin. “And may your scaling of the walls of Troy be likewise successful,” he said to Enjolras. 

“Musichetta and I wish to send you both armed with carbolic soap,” Joly chimed in as he set down a wrapped package on the table. “Combeferre will have some also in England, but it is best to have one’s own supply.”

“Many thanks,” Enjolras said as the other men found their seats. ‘ _Sharp as it is, it is better than the miasmas from the rivers,’_ he told himself as the unmistakable smell of the soap filled the immediate vicinity.

“It is fortunate that the cholera is no longer stalking the neighborhoods of London, and the disease doesn’t seem to be a threat in Spain and Italy,” Joly continued. “However, you cannot be completely sure, and there is still typhus and smallpox to worry about. I know you haven’t ever had either, and the same goes for young Jacques.”

“Then what precautions would you suggest for a traveler?”

“Aside from keeping away from miasmas and places like jails, using that soap might help. And airing out your clothes whenever possible will keep unsavory vapors from being trapped in them or your baggage.”

“Feuilly said he will be away for all the summer, Combeferre for most of it but he hopes to be back by July,” Bossuet said sagely, looking at Enjolras. “What about you and Eponine?”

“Both of us hope to return by August,” Enjolras answered.

The three other men groaned. “And Paris will lose some illumination, an eclipse over summer indeed!” Grantaire quipped.

‘ _If only to spread more of it beyond our borders,’_ Enjolras thought as he took another sip of his drink. After half an hour he quit the Café Bon Vivant and headed back to the Latin Quartier to make some purchases necessary for the trip. By the time he was finished, it was evening, with the gas lamps being lit on the street and people either hurrying home from the market or heading out for evening pleasures at the Odeon or at the area’s many cafes and bistros.

He arrived back at 9 Rue Guisarde, only to have Neville meet him at the door. “Inspector Bahorel was here,” the seventeen-year old said with a worried air. “He also had a note for you, with the pistols and their permits.”

“Thank you, Neville,” Enjolras said, touching the boy’s shoulder. “How have your preparations for your trip proceeded?”

“Very well. I got my best coat back from being repaired at the tailor, and I have nearly finished the English phrase book I borrowed from Ponine,” Neville said brightly. “Is everything well with yours and Jacques’ trip?” he asked.

“We shall see,” Enjolras replied, going into the study where he knew that Neville had placed the boxes. Everything was in good order, with the permits affixed to the inside of each box. Atop all of this however was a sealed note. Enjolras broke the wax seal and found these words in Bahorel’s firm yet hurried scrawl:

_March 26, 1842_

_A.E,_

_This communication is for your eyes only._

_What you saw at Number 14 was the result of our investigating a burglary at the Quai Montebello. It seems to be an intrigue of agent unto agent, since it was the residence of a minor official of the Italian consulate. The ciphers brought into the station were detailing a rendezvous between two rival families in Venice._

_It would not be a matter of consequence if these ciphers did not concern the question of Venice’s restoration of its place in the Italian states. While we are trying to investigate why this matter has spilled over into Paris, be on your guard._

_D.B._

After committing this note to memory, Enjolras went to the sitting room and quickly cast this missive into the woodstove. As he did so, he heard the front door open. “Antoine? What are you doing?” Eponine called from the hall.

“Only getting rid of some paper,” Enjolras said nonchalantly. He saw Eponine look at him quizzically as she was removing her coat and her hat. “Have any papers from Italy or concerning Italy crossed your desk recently?”

Eponine laughed. “You know I only do matters in French or English. If you need Italian, I s’pose you should ask Jehan.”

“Not that particular application of Italian,” Enjolras pointed out. “Meaning nothing to do with the opera.”

“Ah, a complication!” Eponine bit her lip for a moment before giving him a serious look. “About your trip?”

“It may or may not be. The matter is still under investigation.”

“Curiouser and curiouser. I don’t like it when you, of all people, talk to me in puzzles.”

“The matter is a puzzle to me at this moment as well, Eponine,” Enjolras admitted as he took her hand to draw her into his arms. He felt her sigh contentedly against him, more so when he buried his nose in her hair. Even at this hour he could still detect a lingering trace of perfume mingled with the sun and her own scent, a combination he always found intoxicating. ‘ _Hopefully she will be safer in England,’_ he thought before kissing her forehead and going with her to get the family’s supper on the table.


	5. Calais

**Chapter 5: Calais**

_“Maman, I will see you soon again?”_

_Eponine turned to see Laure looking at her with wide eyes, clutching her little valise. “Sooner than you think, my darling. I will write to you and everyone often,” she said. Eponine smoothed down her daughter’s unruly golden curls before adjusting her knit hat and her cape. “And of course, you will have fun and be good to your brothers and your grandparents in Aix.”_

_Laure nodded quickly. “I promise, Maman.”_

_Eponine sighed as she let go of Laure, who promptly ran back to her brothers and her uncle Jacques. The platform at the Bercy station of Paris was always busy with travelers, but today the presence of several diplomats made the situation more chaotic. She could see on one end, Feuilly and his family conferring with their travel companions to Poland as they waited for the train to Strasbourg near the German border. The delegation to England, both the diplomats she was travelling with as well as the scientists with the Combeferres and Neville were already waiting inside the train that would take them north to Calais and its ferries to England._

_“The train to Marseille leaves in an hour,” Enjolras said as he walked up to her. He too was dressed for travel, but this still did not stop Eponine from feeling a familiar warmth in her chest just from looking at him. “And I will write once we arrive in Aix,” he added._

_“I will be in London by the time it reaches England,” Eponine pointed out. “I’ll wait for your letter there, and the letter after that, and after.”_

_Enjolras nodded as he took her gloved hand to kiss it. “I trust you will write often too.”_

_“If only to tell you about everything.” She could hear the stationmaster ringing the bell for the last call for boarding, but she allowed herself a moment to pull Enjolras into her arms if only to commit the feel of him to memory. “I love you Antoine. Stay safe,” she whispered into his ear._

_“I will,” Enjolras said before stepping back to drop a single kiss on her brow. “I love you, Eponine. Now you have to hurry.”_

_Eponine nodded and hurried to the door of the train. Even so, she could not resist a last glance at Enjolras, their children, and Jacques waving from the platform. “I’ll be home soon!” she called as the train began to pull away from the station._

“Citizenness Enjolras? Are you well?”

Eponine opened her eyes and sat up straight in the train compartment. “I’m very fine, Citizen Lamarre,” she said as she rubbed her eyes in an attempt to chase the remainder of sleep away. She glanced at Lamarre, a spindly and nervous looking man, to his more corpulent colleague Reynault snoring in his seat. “It is him we should worry about, I s’pose,” she remarked.

Lamarre chuckled. “A week on English food will reverse some of that, trust me.”

“Perhaps we can teach the English how to use much more butter and nice things often,” Eponine quipped. She looked to the window, where she had a view of the northern countryside slowly regaining the foliage of early spring. The sun was approaching its descent and bathing everything in a golden light. “How much longer till we get to Calais?”

“Less than an hour,” Lamarre said. “We will spend the night by the port since it is not safe to cross the Channel after dark. With any luck we should be in Dover and en route to London by this time tomorrow.” 

‘ _A good deal faster than the trip to Aix,’_ Eponine thought as she got to her feet and headed out of the compartment. She shook out her hands and her feet to stave off some cramps just as Combeferre emerged from an adjoining compartment. “Do you think it will ever be possible to cross from France to England without using a boat?” she asked him by way of greeting.

“The span is rather too large for a bridge, but it is very possible that a balloon or some sort of craft may be able to someday do the crossing,” Combeferre said. He glanced towards his own compartment where Claudine and Neville were dozing on the seats. “Thank you for permitting your brother to join us, Eponine.”

“He likes you both a lot, and anyway it will be a good recommendation for him when he goes to the Sorbonne. So I s’pose it is me who should be thanking you,” Eponine replied. “I do hope Jacques will be fine with Antoine in his trip, and I know that my little ones will enjoy their time in Aix. But who is caring for your twins?”

“They are staying with the Jolys. That is fun for Remy, but I hope that my little Yvie will get on better with Gabrielle Joly,” Combeferre said. “It is a bit much to ask at their ages however.”

“Gabrielle takes after her mother in the way Yvette takes after her own,” Eponine observed. She turned as Claudine also emerged from the compartment. “It’s a good thing you napped well.”

“I think we should be at Calais shortly,” Claudine said before yawning. “It is too bad we are in such a hurry; I would have wanted to see the botanical garden in Rouen!”

“We can make a stop there on the way back to Paris, when we are more at leisure,” Combeferre replied affably. He nodded to Neville as the boy emerged from their compartment. “How are you feeling?”

“The sleeping draught helped,” Neville said. “I’ve never been on a train before.”

“Why, you got a headache?” Eponine asked concernedly.

“Only a mild one,” Neville confessed even as the train began to slow upon its approach to the station. “I think it is better I know of it now, than instead of being completely sick with no remedy on the sea.”

“Citizenness Enjolras!” a loud voice shouted from Eponine’s compartment. The ruddy faced Reynault emerged, looking rather out of breath even with his cravat flapping and his coat unbuttoned. “We thought we’d lost you!”

“I was only taking a stroll, to stay awake,” Eponine replied as she went into her compartment to get her coat and her hat. ‘ _With each moment I get further and further away from home,’_ she told herself as she buttoned up her coat over her plain green dress. Would she still recognize it upon her return?

The first thing that occurred to Eponine as their party alighted at the St. Pierre station of Calais, was that the French spoken in these parts was accented quite differently from that spoken in Paris. “They don’t have their own _patois_ here in Normandy, do they?” she asked Reynault and Lamarre as they walked across the platform.

“No, they speak French, but imperfectly—that is to say not in the Parisian way,” Reynault said, puffing his chest out.

“It is at least a little more understandable than what they speak in the Midi,” Lamarre said, not hiding his guffaws.

Combeferre looked over at Lamarre. “The same observation in its converse can be made by travelers from the Midi who find themselves in Paris for the first time,” he said icily.

“I don’t see what’s wrong with speaking Occitan; my brothers and I do that all the time,” Neville chimed in.

“Oh, and who taught you, young man?” Reynault asked.

“My father, that is to say, Citizen Enjolras,” Neville said proudly, drawing himself to his full height as his leg and a half would allow. “But he is my brother under the law, just so you know.”

“Neville was young when Citizen Enjolras and I married,” Eponine explained quickly to the astonished diplomats. “He was almost eight years old then.”

The two diplomats nodded slowly. “You keep interesting company, Citizen Combeferre,” Reynault said at last.

“You mean family,” Combeferre replied, looking them in the face.

Eponine drew the sleeves of her coat over her hands as a crisp sea breeze cut through the station. She watched for a while as different carriages and carts went to and from the station; many of the passengers were merchants and farmers sending their wares south or to the port, but there were a few who were avidly welcoming a largesse of goods shipped from Paris or Rouen. Now and then a more richly decorated conveyance made its appearance such as the cabriolets coming from the center of the town. One of these slowed down for a few moments upon nearing the platform, and a woman wearing a satin bonnet peered out for a moment before the carriage drove off at a run. ‘ _Curious!’_ Eponine thought as she followed her companions to where they had managed to hail carriages to convey them and their luggage to the _Saint Pierre Hostel_.

The _Saint Pierre_ , named for its proximity to the railway station, commanded a good view of the coast and the port. Its best rooms all fronted this vista but were fitted up with double glass panes in the windows and warm fires to keep out the chill from the Channel. “If you find it still cold, Citizenness, there’s always the jug downstairs,” the hotel’s proprietress said as she showed Eponine around the room she would occupy on her own. “It might not be what you are used to in Paris, but it is bracing enough for us!”

“I s’pose I wouldn’t mind a taste later, over dinner,” Eponine said as she untied her hat and tossed it onto the bed. The room was not overly large, but had space for a single bed, an upholstered chair, a writing desk, a woodstove, and a small cabinet with a basin for washing. As simple as this room was, its cleanliness gave it an air of luxury that Eponine had never seen at her family’s old inn in Montfermeil.

She opened her trunk to bring out her portable writing slope, which had a small compartment in it for note paper and writing implements. Just as she set this contraption on the desk, she heard footsteps and the sounds of someone moving furniture in the next room. ‘ _What rumpus is that?’_ Eponine wondered as she put the writing slope back in her trunk and locked it. She stepped out of her room in time to hear the soft swooshing of skirts growing further and further away down the stairs. ‘ _Who else is staying on this floor aside from me?’_ she wondered, knowing that everyone else in her party had doubled up in rooms in the second storey.

She did her best to put this query out of her mind during dinner, but all the same she could not help but watch the hotel’s other patrons as they congregated at the plain tables and passed around jugs of liquor. “You don’t suppose some of these people are headed to England too, like we are?” she asked Claudine as they were finishing up the last of their dessert, a thick delectable _gateau de Calais_.

“It is rather likely. Why, is there something wrong?” Claudine asked, wiping her mouth.

‘ _It probably wasn’t anything,’_ Eponine decided as she shook her head. “Only that the inn seems awfully full even on the higher floors.”

Claudine shrugged. “You know how some people have an itch to know everything about their neighbors, no matter how transient.”

“I s’pose that is true,” Eponine said as she got the few remaining crumbs of cake. It did help that nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the dining room or the other common areas of the hotel. After a few minutes she excused herself to her room, where she got out her writing slope once again to begin with these words.

_April 2, 1842_

_Hotel St. Pierre_

_Antoine,_

_I know it might seem soon to write, but I did say I would tell you everything. And since we’ve never been this far north before, I decided it would be good to begin telling it here._

Just as she was about to write another line, she heard more thumping from the next room. She glanced up towards the rafters and saw what appeared to be a flicker of movement in a small gap between the wall and the ceiling. “Oh no, you don’t,” Eponine whispered as she crossed out the lines she had been writing and then tossed the paper into the woodstove for good measure. She quickly put away the writing slope and then undressed for bed. ‘ _Nothing to see here,’_ she decided as she put out the candles so she could fall asleep.

The crisp morning chill seeping through the blankets jolted Eponine awake hours later, making her open her eyes to a dark and cold room with grey sea mist clouding the view. ‘ _The stove is out,’_ she realized as she got out of bed and dressed hurriedly. She cursed under her breath as she tried to put up her long hair into a knot but had to settle for simply tying it back with a ribbon.

Suddenly a knock sounded on the door. “Citizenness Enjolras, will you have your luggage brought downstairs?” a porter called.

“Yes, yes,” Eponine said as she quickly crossed the room. “Is anybody else from this inn also leaving this morning---aside from my party, I mean?” she asked the porter.

The porter merely blinked at her. “It is the hour for the ferry, Citizenness. Everyone is paying their bill at the concierge.”

“That’s true,” Eponine said, stepping aside to let the porter pick up her baggage. ‘ _And to think I almost, almost moved here to Calais with Theodule Gillenormand!’_ she thought as she grabbed her coat and her hat.

When she arrived downstairs, Reynault and Lamarre were agitatedly talking to the concierge, while Claudine and Combeferre were going over an itinerary. Neville was eating a large brioche. “We were on the point of breaking down your door!” the boy called to Eponine when she made her appearance.

“I know. I s’pose the cold doesn’t do well for me,” Eponine said. She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself down. ‘ _In a few hours you will be in Dover, and there will be no time to fret about such silly things,’_ she told herself.

“Eponine, are you well?” Claudine asked. “You look rather pale.” 

“It’s just the cold, and I will be warm in a minute with some coffee,” Eponine said stubbornly. “That is, if we still have time for it?”

“We can spare a few minutes,” Lamarre said, breaking momentarily from his conversation.

“Thank you,” Eponine muttered before going into the dining room to get the much-needed hot drink, and perhaps some breakfast. Although the coffee had her feeling less chilled, she could not quite shake the feeling of something at her back as she and her companions left the hotel and made their way to the port.


	6. Aix

**Chapter 6: Aix**

“Are we there yet, Papa?”

“Not for a while yet, Julien.”

“But we left Marseille so long ago!”

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face as he gently but firmly held the little boy’s shoulder to keep him from jumping around the carriage seat and waking up his older sister, who was fast asleep. It was already the third of April, a whole day and some hours since they had set out from Paris on the train to Marseille. He wearily glanced back at the other seat, where Jacques had also dozed off in the middle of reading a story to little Etienne. ‘ _No help from that quarter,’_ he thought as he looked at Julien and then at Laure, who was already stretching from her nap.

“You know, this trip is a lot shorter than it was before you were born,” Enjolras said to the two children. “Many years ago, it took me about thirteen days to travel from Aix to Paris.”

Julien’s eyes went wide under his unruly blond hair. “Thirteen days!”

“And if you remember, when we went to Aix before, it took us just five days on the road,” Enjolras continued. “Now it only takes us two days: one whole day by train and three fourths of a day by diligence if you leave Marseille early enough.”

“Julien doesn’t remember, but I do,” Laure chimed in, now sitting up straight. “I remember we had those itchy beds at the inns. And Etienne wasn’t born yet, so he missed all the fun!”

Julien frowned at this. “I remember we went to the beach, and I played in the sand. You didn’t like to get wet.”

“The beach was boring. I liked going into town with Grandfather to get new books, or with Grandmother to get bonbons,” Laure pronounced.

‘ _I should remind my mother not to keep plying Laure with sweets, for the sake of her teeth,’_ Enjolras thought as he looked out the window at the sunlit afternoon. Although it had been some three years since he and his family had last been in Provence, the countryside had changed a great deal. The once deserted lanes now passed by small farms, and the areas with small farms had now begun to grow into villages. He glanced at his watch, and saw it was already a good four hours since their last change of horses on the road. ‘ _We should be there soon enough.’_

The sun was setting by the time the diligence crossed the old walls of Aix-en-Provence and made its way up the famed Cours Mirabeau. By now, both Jacques and Etienne were awake; the latter was peering out the window while Jacques held on to him by his collar. “It’s almost as lively as the Champs Elysee at Paris, _petit_ ,” Jacques told the little boy. “Well, easier to pass through since there are fewer people walking around,” he added.

“Only because it’s early spring; if you recall it looks quite different in the summer,” Enjolras remarked. He noticed Laure and Julien also now scrambling to the windows. “What are you looking for there?”

“There’s the shop with all the sweet breads and pastries!” Laure said, pointing outside.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at the sight of a familiar brasserie on this avenue. “It is only the Deux Garcons.”

“They have the best cakes!” Laure said. “Papa, you gave me a few coins you said I could use for whatever I like, so can I get one for Etienne so he can try them and one for Julien too?”

“And how many cakes were you planning to get for yourself, Laure?”

“Maybe two, since I am getting them with my coins.”

“Yes, but that leaves you with less to spend for books,” Enjolras said more sternly as the diligence began to slow down. He sighed as Laure stuck out her lip in the beginning of a pout. “All the same, I am sure that you will find other things to do or see when you go into town.”

Jacques bit his lip. “If we didn’t have to be in Nimes in a few days to meet the cultural attaché accompanying to Spain, it would be nice to stay longer.”

“Perhaps on another trip to Aix, which will be easier now with the new railroad,” Enjolras pointed out as the diligence came to a stop. He carefully opened the door of the coach, but before he could step out, Laure sprang to the ground. “Laure!” he called after his daughter even as she ran up to a tall man standing near the diligence station.

“It’s Uncle Henri!” Laure called over her shoulder. “Papa, hurry up!”

“No need for that, Antoine, I’ll help you all with your luggage,” the man named Henri said jovially as he walked up with Laure in tow to the diligence. Like most of the men of the Enjolras clan, he was tall with golden hair, but his build was heftier than that of his younger cousin. 

“It’s good to see you here, Henri,” Enjolras said, clapping Henri on the shoulder. “Jacques and I will not be staying long in Aix, so I feared we would not be able to meet.”

“Well this is why I volunteered to meet you even though your parents almost insisted,” Henri replied. He nodded to Jacques convivially. “Looks like you’re off for a Grand Tour. Don’t worry, you are in good hands with Antoine.”

“I think that he is in good hands with me,” Jacques quipped from where he was helping Laure count their luggage. 

Henri laughed before stepping back to let Julien give him a hug around the waist. “You’ve grown so tall, Julien! You’ll be just as tall as your father in no time,” he said to the little boy.

“I haven’t properly introduced Etienne, my youngest,” Enjolras added, scooping up Etienne who had crouched to play in the dirt. “He was born after we were last in Aix.”

“Now this one is the spitting image of his mother,” Henri said, ruffling Etienne’s thick reddish hair. “Is there no chance of Eponine being able to visit even later this summer?”

“It is rather unlikely, I hate to say,” Enjolras answered, setting Etienne down so the latter could walk around.

“A pity. I was looking forward to catching up with her on developments in Paris,” Henri said ruefully. “My girls miss her as well.”

“I could ask her to forward some notes to you or your daughters,” Enjolras offered. “Should I hail another coach, or will everything and everyone fit in the carriage?”

“I think a single vehicle will suffice,” Henri replied, surveying the assorted bags and trunks the newcomers had brought. “Wait here while I have it brought around.”

Julien watched as Henri walked out of the diligence stop before tugging on his father’s cuff. “Papa, will Grandmother have a big dinner waiting for us?” he asked.

“Of course she will,” Enjolras said. ‘ _And knowing her, she will have the children’s favorite foods waiting and in abundance.’_

Julien nodded but his expression remained pensive. “I wish we could have meat cakes, the way that Maman makes them,” he whispered.

“Ah yes, _rissoles_ ,” Jacques chimed in wistfully. “Perhaps we could have some made over the next few days.”

Suddenly a carriage stopped nearby, right on the street. “Citizen Enjolras! Is that really you?” a richly dressed woman crooned as she alighted from this vehicle. Unlike most of the other ladies on this street she had adopted the very Parisian custom of wearing a satin bonnet worked to match her dress, without the customary lace cap so common in those parts. “I did not hear that you were coming to Aix!”

“Good evening Citizenness Berlioz,” Enjolras greeted cordially, recognizing this distant childhood acquaintance.

“Oh, why are you so formal even till now? The name is Celeste,” the woman said. She frowned slightly as she noticed Enjolras’ companions. “And these are---”

“My children and my brother-in-law.”

“Fancy that!” Celeste said in Occitan. “And you didn’t bring your wife here?”

“Maman is doing important things in England!” Laure cut in, unable to hide her cross tone in French. “I’ve never seen you before, Citizenness, not the last time Papa and Maman brought us here to Aix.”

“What a tongue!” Celeste exclaimed in French. She frowned before continuing in Occitan, “I wonder where she got that from.”

“Antoine, there you are!” Henri called, finally making his appearance again in the company of some porters to carry their luggage. “I thought I lost you, but it turns out that Citizenness Berlioz’s carriage was in the way,” he added.

Celeste looked at Henri icily. “I was only catching up with an old friend.”

‘ _Friend is putting the point too far,’_ Enjolras thought but he merely nodded to his cousin. “Good evening Citizenness,” he said quickly as he gathered up his children and followed Jacques, who was already chatting animatedly with Henri about local goings-on. In a matter of minutes, the porters loaded the carriage, and the passengers soon settled in for the short drive to the Enjolras family home.

This estate was located south of the Cours Mirabeau, just beyond the main city limits in what was known as the Pays d’Aix. By day the way to the Enjolras property and its neighbors would have offered a spectacular view of orchards, arbors, and fields of poppies and lavender. In the dark however, the road only seemed forbidding such that little Etienne fussed and spent the trip burying his face in his father’s shoulder while Julien, Laure, and Jacques kept themselves amused by listening to the stories of their elders. After half an hour, the travel-weary party finally arrived within sight of the bright lights of the main house.

Henri stuck his head out of one of the carriage windows as the vehicle approached the entryway. “I’ve brought them back safe and sound, Uncle Louis!” he shouted.

“As I knew you would,” Louis replied eagerly. He was as spry as ever, only with more white peppering his gold hair. “Come now, boys. Where is my son, Antoine?”

“Here he is,” Enjolras said, alighting first from the carriage. Before he could say another word he found himself enveloped in his father’s embrace. “Were you and Mother waiting long?” he managed to ask.

“For me, no. I like to share my supper. Your mother thinks otherwise.” Louis let go of his son and crouched down. “And now where are my favorite grandchildren?”

“Your only grandchildren, Grandfather!” Laure said impishly as she ran up to greet him, with her brothers in tow. “Look how tall I’ve gotten!”

“Yes, you’re almost a lady, and Julien my boy you’re exactly like your father!” Louis said, trying to pick up all the children at once but he only succeeded in picking up Etienne, who was now fussing with this unaccustomed display of affection. “And you, Etienne, I have to properly introduce to this place!” Louis added more softly in an attempt to soothe him.

“He’s a little overtired,” Enjolras said, coming to the rescue of his youngest son.

“Yes, you’ve had a long day,” Louis concurred. He then drew Jacques into an embrace as well. “It’s also good to have you back, Jacques. Couldn’t your brothers be spared too?”

“Neville is in England with my sister, and Gavroche has an important case right now,” Jacques replied.

“What are you all standing out here for? Dinner is going to get cold!” Monique Enjolras _nee_ d’Aubain cried from inside the house. Like her husband, she had not aged much save for taking on a matronly habit of wearing more voluminous aprons than ever. She sighed when she saw her son. “Antoine, couldn’t you persuade Eponine to even be here for a single night?”

“I would, if there was a way to get her from here to the English Channel in a matter of hours,” Enjolras deadpanned.

“My goodness Aunt Monique, I would think you preferred your daughter-in-law to your own son!” Henri quipped.

“I’ve had three decades and more to get to know Antoine, while I’ve only known Eponine nine years, so I have a lot of making up to do,” Monique retorted. “Come on, I’ve got dinner for all of you. Jacques, I remember you like my onion pie, so I had one made up special. And Henri, I am bringing out your favorite coffee as a thank you gift for being so good to my Antoine. It should help you when you have to go back into town tonight.”

Louis nodded to his son. “It will take your mother a while to get them settled. Could you spare me a few minutes in the library?”

“Louis!” Monique called indignantly.

“It won’t be long, Mother,” Enjolras promised, following Louis upstairs to the family’s private library. This was stocked with many more books than the study at the Rue Guisarde, but the furnishings were older and a little less comfortable. ‘ _This place seems smaller each time I visit it,’_ he observed as he took a seat near the window.

Louis searched one of the desks and brought out a newspaper. “This only made the local news, so I am not surprised this did not reach you in Paris,” he said, pointing out an article towards the bottom of the page.

“Shootout between Spanish national and local artisan,” Enjolras read aloud. “What of it?”

“The local artisan is, or was, known to you, Coutard and many others,” Louis explained. “He was with the Courgourde. His name was Adrien Gaz. He is in the churchyard now.”

‘ _A name I hadn’t thought of in a while,’_ Enjolras reflected even as memories of brash speeches, gatherings in the Cours Mirabeau, and fleeing the gendarmes came to mind. “The last I heard of him was before the revolution ten years ago. After that he abruptly severed his connections with the Courgourde members in Paris.”

“Yes, since he focused more on affairs here in the South,” Louis explained. “He somehow gained connections with the Basques and began working more closely with them. One of them is known to you, the wife of your friend Feuilly. I know they are careful on the whole, but somehow Citizen Gaz ran afoul of the ‘Spanish national’ mentioned. The latter is also in the common grave, having died of his wounds shortly after.”

“And who was that?”

“An agent with a card from General Espartero of Spain. The Spanish regent. He had a false passport on him as well, with a French name declaring him to be from Bayonne,”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “And this was not reported in the paper?”

“The matter is hushed up as a simple fight under the influence of spirits, which it may have been, but it begs a question,” Louis said. “What was an agent of the Spanish regent doing here in the Midi? And under a false name as well?”

“Monarchies have their spies everywhere in Europe, America and even in Asia, for it is in their best interest to do so,” the younger man pointed out.

“That is true, but this one may have been after Citizen Gaz or one of his contacts. I fear that he and his network of agitators in the Basque region may have run afoul of the Spanish Crown.” Louis gritted his teeth. “It is likely there are more agents of the Spanish regent or his allies making their way around, as they have always been suspicious of France since 1789.”

‘ _As it threatens much of their way of life, at least politically,’_ Enjolras noted silently. “Is that the only cause of concern you wished to speak with me about?”

“Materially, yes. Tangentially, you must remember that there is still some sentiment to separate the Basque country from the Spanish kingdom, and perhaps unite it with the Northern Basque region which you know is still part of France,” Louis replied. “Citizen Gaz’s death and involvements are part of that.”

‘ _It would be imprudent however to write to the Feuillys about this without further evidence, as they are on a sensitive mission themselves,’_ Enjolras decided. He looked at the newspaper on the table, then at his father. “You can count on my discretion.” 

“I know. I only wish that you not be caught off guard in case such espionage is mentioned.” Louis turned at the sound of urgent knocking at the study door. “Well let’s not keep ourselves from the supper any longer. You think Jacques will leave any of the onion pie for us?”

“I would not bet on it, Father,” Enjolras said as they got up to quit the room. “It’s been hours since he has had anything worthy of digestion.”

After a merry supper, Monique showed the guests to their rooms on the second floor. “Laure gets her own room since she is a young lady now,” she explained as she handed out some keys. “Julien, since Etienne is so little, you two will have a room near mine. Jacques, I have given you a room of your own on this floor too. Antoine, you will get your old room.”

“Of course,” Enjolras said, receiving the key from his mother. After making sure that his children were settled in their respective quarters, he quickly made his way to this abode, but hesitated on putting the key into the door. ‘ _The last time I was in this room, I was with Eponine,’_ he recalled. How would it be to sleep alone in this room once again?

The room was just as he had left it nearly three years ago, with the floor swept clean and the books in order. The only difference was that fresh linen and clean drapes had been ordered for the place. “The bed seems bigger now though,” Enjolras observed as he lit a candle and set it on the desk. He unpacked his writing implements and set them out on the desk as well, just before he heard a soft knock on the door. “Who’s there?” he asked.

“Tienne.”

Enjolras sighed as he got up to open the door, only to be greeted by his son’s tear-streaked face. “What is wrong?”

Etienne sobbed piteously, stopping only to wipe his nose on his nightshirt. “I miss Maman. Please call Maman for me.”

“Your Maman is visiting with your Uncle Neville to another country. We talked about this already, Etienne,” Enjolras said even as he picked up the sniffling boy.

“Papa, I can’t sleep.”

“Well, I will stay with you till you can, like we do at home sometimes.”

The mention of ‘home’ set off Etienne into another round of sobs, which he tried to muffle in his father’s shoulder. “But I want Maman too!”

Enjolras only sighed as he carried the child back to the room set up for him and Julien. Both boys were set to share a bed; the older was already sound asleep over a large book that he had clearly snuck into the room. “You need to try to sleep, or you won’t feel well in the morning,” Enjolras said as he set Etienne down.

Etienne sniffled and wiped his face once more. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Dark!”

Enjolras nodded as he tucked the child in at the other side of the bed. “This is why Julien is with you, to keep you safe. And you know that I’m not far away, your sister is in the next room, and your Uncle Jacques, and your Grandfather and Grandmother.”

This seemed to mollify Etienne, who then curled up under the blanket. “Good night Papa,” he whispered before shutting his eyes.

Enjolras adjusted the blanket to cover both boys before sitting at the bedside till he saw Etienne was fast asleep. “Good night, boys,” he whispered before getting up to check on Laure as well as Jacques. Both were slumbering peacefully in their respective quarters, so he did not linger long before heading back to his room.

He looked out the window, where now the only illumination was from the stars and the setting moon. Even the center of the town of Aix had gone dark owing to the late hour. “One more thing to do,” he resolved as he sat down again at the desk to pen these words.

_April 3, 1842_

_Aix-en-Provence_

_Eponine,_

_I trust that this letter will reach you in London and find you safe and well. As I promised you yesterday, I would write upon our arrival in Aix. It is fortunate that we were not met with any delays on the train to Marseille, and that the road to Aix has been improved greatly since our last visit to this town._

_The children bore up the travel very well and seized every opportunity to ask every question possible on the trip. Jacques has conducted himself very well, and my parents were glad to receive him. Were it not for the official summons for us to be in Nimes by the 7 th at the very latest, they would detain him a day or two longer even against my bidding. Laure is thrilled to be here in the country, so I do not fear for her during this trip. Julien has been asking insistently for the dishes you prepare each day at home, such that my mother has asked me to give instructions to her cook. Etienne misses you, which is to be expected at this point, but I hope the company of his siblings will comfort and cheer him in the coming weeks. _

_As to the matter that my parents wished to speak to one or both of us about, it does bear some investigation on my part, but it may prove immaterial to the tasks at hand. I hope you can rest easy on this and remain focused on your endeavor in England. This being set aside, my parents and my cousin Henri all send their warm regards. If it so happens that you finish your errand ahead of mine, then by all means please come to Aix as well._

_I will next write when my delegation is about to cross to Spain, but it may be that I will receive your first letter while we are in Barcelona. Should it happen that our stay there be abbreviated, I will ask to have the mail forwarded to our accommodations in either Zaragoza or Madrid, depending on the situation at hand._

_Please send my warm greetings to Neville, as well as Combeferre and Claudine. I hope greatly for the success of your ventures, and I look forward to hearing of them soon._

_Yours always,_

_Antoine_

Enjolras looked this letter over, surprised even with himself at the length of it. ‘ _All the same, I cannot have her worry about how I am bearing up,’_ he decided before sealing the letter and postmarking it to “Claridges, Brook Street and Davies Street, Mayfair, London.”

‘ _If it gets posted in the morning, it should reach Paris in three days, then London in five days to a week,’_ he decided before blowing out the candle for the night. 


	7. No Place Like London

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I have taken some liberties with steam trains and the name of a certain well known place. But things get accelerated in this version of Europe.

**Chapter 7: No Place Like London**

Even while seated on the ferry that traversed the Strait of Dover, Eponine could not help but sneak wary glances at the other passengers on the boat. Even though the passenger compartment they were in was well lit, with sunlight streaming in through large glass windows, it was difficult to ascertain faces of people bowed in their sleep. After about an hour of this, she felt one of her companions nudge her in the ribs. “Neville! What was that about?” she hissed at her younger brother, who was seated to her left.

“You’re staring. It’s rude,” Neville replied.

“I know, but it can’t be helped. I’m pretty sure some of these swells were also at the hotel last night,” Eponine whispered. She looked to Combeferre and Claudine, but both of them were asleep. The same could be said for the diplomats, who were snoring loud enough to disturb some of the other travelers. “Did you notice anyone unusual?”

Neville shook his head. “I was eating.”

Eponine gritted her teeth as she sat back in the lightly padded chair given to her for this crossing. ‘ _Maybe he is right and there is nothing to worry about,’_ she thought as she tried to will away the nausea caused by the musty boat pitching about on the English Channel. It would not do, she decided, to be sick all over her travelling outfit.

Just as she could feel the beginnings of a pounding in her temples, the boat’s rocking lessened considerably. “We must be nearing the harbor at Dover,” Lamarre said, now somehow roused by this development. He jostled Reynault, who was at the end of their row of seats. “Make sure our papers are ready!”

Eponine took the opportunity to go to one of the windows, which offered a sweeping view of the harbor. “How could such cliffs be so white?” she asked aloud, seeing the stark white crags and rock faces they were sailing past. 

“They are made of chalk!” Neville chimed in.

“What! The same chalk you see in schoolrooms?”

“The same raw substance at least,” Combeferre explained. “But yes, you can very well write with a raw fragment of one of those rocks.”

‘ _If only this could be captured on a daguerreotype,’_ Eponine thought, but she knew the boat was moving too quickly for even the most skilled artist to render an image. ‘ _Perhaps I can try to sketch it later,’_ she decided as she returned to her seat. In due course the ferry reached the inside of the harbor, prompting the passengers and crew members to prepare to disembark.

On the wharf, their party was met by a sallow official smelling strongly of tobacco. “Good day, ladies and gentlemen. What business has you here in England?” he said gruffly.

Reynault came forward, handing over the group’s travel papers. “We are on official business, to the French embassy.”

“As well as to the Royal Society, in London,” Claudine added.

The official examined the papers for a moment before thrusting them back at Reynault. “You can hail a carriage over there,” he said, pointing to a squat building at the opposite end of the wharf.

“These English never have style,” Reynault complained once the official was out of earshot. “We can expect a better welcome at our embassy in London---at least once we get to the train that will take us there.”

“Didn’t you arrange for a carriage?” Lamarre asked.

“Yes, in London!”

As Lamarre and Reynault began to argue, Eponine resumed her observation of the other travelers. Under the sunlight, the distinctions between masters and servants was clear once more; the former stood around or rested in the safety of the wharf’s covered areas, while the latter loaded up the waiting carriages or bustled about at their employers’ beck and call. ‘ _These swells clearly have gone to fat,’_ she thought as she saw some burly footmen carrying even small packages for portly gentlemen and pale ladies in wide skirts. She stepped out of the way of a tall lady’s maid dressed in a severely cut blue dress with a plain white cap while carrying a large hatbox to a green carriage that had neither emblem nor device. ‘ _What a line that one has,’_ Eponine thought, seeing a scar that ran from this woman’s right eye to her other cheek.

“Eponine, we’ve found it!” Claudine called all of a sudden. “Or rather, them. There’s two large ones here for all of us.”

“Why, even the diligence at home is finer,” Eponine muttered on seeing the two hackney coaches that their party had managed to hire. It was clear that this pair of conveyances were once owned by a wealthy personage, if the presence of a faded decal on the doors was any indicator. ‘ _But never mind, it is only for a short ride,’_ she chided herself as she boarded one of the carriages. Even with just three passengers per vehicle, it was a tight fit owing to the luggage, which could not be put in separate compartments. By the time that their party arrived at the train station, Eponine could feel cramps starting up in her ankles, and it was all she could do not to grimace as they crossed the platform to board the next train for London.

The stationmaster eyed their party critically even as Reynault presented their papers. “Diplomats, first class,” the stationmaster said at length, pointing to a richly accoutered car at the front of the locomotive.

“Looks like we are travelling in style,” Neville quipped.

“It will be comfortable for us, since the windows are closed,” Combeferre said. “Look however to those in the back.”

Eponine turned to see the second as well as the third-class carriages, which apart from not being as decorated, had windows covered only by shutters in second class, and none at all in the third. “Why, they may as well ride in a cart!” she exclaimed.

“Such is the way things are around here,” Reynault pointed out as they boarded the train.

‘ _It isn’t right though,’_ Eponine thought, and judging by the dismayed looks on Claudine and Combeferre’s faces, they were of the same mind. “Is it ever possible for anyone to switch?” she asked the diplomats as they took their seats.

“They have inspectors on the train to avoid just that,” Reynault said sagely before shutting his eyes to nap.

Owing to having woken up early after a restless night, Eponine fell asleep almost as soon as the train left the Dover Station. When she next opened her eyes, she was greeted by the sight of the train coming up fast to an elevated platform. “Where are we?” she asked groggily.

“Approaching Fenchurch Station,” Lamarre said. “It’s actually outside of the center of the city, so we will have coaches waiting to convey us to our accommodation. Once we are settled in, then we can proceed to the French embassy for dinner.”

“How will we ever find our way once inside there?” Eponine wondered to herself. From their vantage point she could see a road leading to a grand bridge spanning a murky river. On either side of this watercourse there were houses and buildings, with the grander edifices being further off and half hidden in the fog. ‘ _Not even the Fauborg Saint-Antoine was this twisty before the revolution.’_

Neville had his face pressed up to the window as the train came to a stop. “Will we have to take coaches everywhere?” he asked.

“For our safety, yes,” Lamarre advised. “London is a grand city, but that’s mostly true in the better parts of it. It’s easy to get lost. Besides, it is fashionable to have a carriage strictly for driving through town.”

“The Embassy does have one?” Eponine asked.

“Why of course.”

“I s’pose it isn’t the only English custom adopted then, if fashion is the concern.”

“Come now, let’s not dally!” Reynault boomed, getting to his feet. “Paris may have all the world in it, but one cannot compare to London in terms of size. There is no end of diversions in this grand city.”

“If one can overlook the stench of the Thames,” Lamarre muttered as they made their way out of the train. “I do not like it much here, but Reynault has not been here before so I am trying to keep some cheer for him,” he explained in an undertone to the rest of the group.

Outside Fenchurch Station was a whole array of vehicles, ranging from heavy wagons left open to the air, to light hooded carriages drawn by horses with well kept and shiny coats, and attended by flashily dressed coachmen. Standing out in all of this, and attracting more than a few stares and exclamations, was a large closed carriage with the flag of France painted on the door and drawn by six horses. “Those are from the Embassy, I s’pose?” Eponine asked.

Reynault grinned. “Precisely what I had hoped for!”

“You mean it is a necessity,” Lamarre pointed out. “We can’t be seen at Claridges in anything less than a barouche or better yet, a landau.”

Eponine merely shrugged at the names of these conveyances. “In Paris it’s all just fiacres and cabriolets, or maybe a tilbury in some parts,” she said as they went to the closed carriage and took their seats. “What is the difference?” she asked at length as the coach rolled away from the station and down the road to the bridge.

“Both carriages seat four people, but the barouche only has a hood for two, while the landau has hoods for all four,” Lamarre explained. “Those are the carriages you take driving in the park. But the completely closed ones, such as the one we are in, are the most comfortable and I believe to be the safest,” he added, giving her a knowing look.

“I am not that sort of person anymore, Citizen,” Eponine said tersely. “And it would be so silly for people to ride about in open carriages if they are afraid of getting their pockets picked.” After a few moments she took a deep breath only to take in the thick odor of mud mingled with rubbish and rot. “What is that?”

Claudine wrinkled her nose even as Reynault sneezed. “Is that smell coming from the river?’

“It smells like the grates when you open them wrong,” Neville observed.

Lamarre sighed even as he held a handkerchief to his nose. “Yes, it is the Thames. I know our physician Combeferre here would have something to say about it.”

“Only that the miasma and its smell are not sources of sickness, but only heralds of contagion,” Combeferre said. “Perhaps it would be good to collaborate on how to best process the effluents and refuse coming from both banks.”

“Sooner rather than later,” Eponine muttered. As they neared the city center it became apparent to her just how warren-like London was, with its winding streets lined with shops, tenements, and in some places a few townhouses and parks. There were even more passers-by on the roads than she had ever seen in Paris, but many of these were clad in rags and thin clothing against the early spring winds. Some of these were picking up dog droppings and putting them into ragged bags, while others were sweeping paths through the filth. “Where do they go?” she asked.

“Them?” Lamarre asked, shuddering as he indicated the paupers. “Most will make shift where they can in their homes nearby if only to prevent going into the workhouse.”

“What is a workhouse?” Neville asked.

“A place where people can stay off the streets, when there is nowhere else to go,” Lamarre said blasely. “It is at least a roof over their heads.”

“For how long do they stay?”

“As long as they have to.”

Reynault cleared his throat. “Not to dampen the instruction of young Citizen Thenardier, but I believe we are at our destination. Wasn’t this called Mivart’s once?”

“Yes, but with a recent merger it’s more popularly known as Claridge’s,” Lamarre explained as the coach came to a rumbling stop. “We’ve said a lot about this city, but this place is an example of how Londoners do things in style.”

Eponine shrugged, already prepared for some disappointment after their trip through some of the more dismal parts of London. However, the sight of a richly carpeted lobby illuminated by several crystalline chandeliers quickly dispelled any miserable notions. All the furniture was new, with gently curved lines and naturally stained woods, as per the custom of the day. Satin upholstery covered every seat, and every table had ornaments in cut glass and silver. “This looks more like something one would have for a fancy ball at Versailles. Not even a country house is this fine!” she whispered to Claudine.

“They entertain ambassadors here, not to mention any number of the English peerage,” Claudine replied in a hushed voice. “But yes, you are right. I’ve never seen so much teak in the furniture before, and that comes from other parts of the English empire.”

Neville scratched his head. “I fear if I move I might break something very expensive.”

“You will get to rest easy in your own room,” Reynault said from where he was signing in their entire delegation at the concierge’s. “You also get your own room, Citizenness Enjolras.”

“Oh?” Eponine asked, from where she had been admiring the light in a glass statue. Had she been more attentive at this moment she might have noticed how the mere mention of her name caused a stir at the concierge. As it was, she was more intent on committing the sight of the statue to memory, for a future sketch. ‘ _If my parents could afford to have such things on the table, maybe that old inn in Montfermeil might have become a grand inn in Paris,’_ she thought but the memory of her father’s chicanery combined with her mother’s cruelties dispelled the fantasy altogether.

If she had been impressed with the lobby, it was nothing compared to her astonishment on seeing the room assigned to her. “A fire in its own place here, and not just a stove! Who keeps this room clean from ashes?” she asked Reynault and Lamarre on seeing the suite’s lavish furnishings, which included an oversized wash basin, velvet instead of damask on the windows, a full length mirror edged with gilt, genuine French chaise, and a four-poster topped with a featherbed and large pillows trimmed with lace.

“A chambermaid is assigned to each room,” Reynault explained. “For your peace of mind, I would suggest you secure any jewels you have brought with you.”

“I hardly have any pretty pieces with me,” Eponine replied.

“Oh? What of dinners and meeting the Queen?”

“Why, a necklace and a ring will not do?”

Reynault sighed deeply. “You are not merely a citizenness of France, you are representing the country and its women. Well we can resolve this difficulty by renting some pieces, so it is good you mentioned this right away.” He bowed uncomfortably. “Good evening, and we will see you and the rest downstairs before dinner at the Embassy.”

“I mean to look like myself, not like Marie Antoinette or Lady so and so,” Eponine muttered as soon as she was sure that Reynault was out of earshot. After doffing her coat and her hat, she brought out her writing implements. ‘ _If I send this tomorrow, it should be able to catch Antoine when he gets to Barcelona,’_ she decided, remembering now her husband’s itinerary.

_April 3, 1842_

_Claridge’s, London_

_My dear Antoine,_

_I really hope you and Jacques are well and happy in Barcelona, or wherever you are if this letter finds you in some other part of Spain. I believe that the change of climate might do your health a better turn; living in Paris in the winter has a way of turning even the best of us pale after all._

_We arrived in London today. I cannot say I care for the place very much. The best parts of it remind me of the houses we do not frequent for them being too grand, and the worst parts remind me of the sewers, the old Gorbeau House, and even living under the bridges in Paris. The beggars must sweep the filth for them and others to walk through, when there really should be some provision by the city for that sort of thing. It might be some sort of occupation for them, and perhaps they are being paid something for it, but I cannot imagine how it can be good for their health. The Thames, the river here, has a smell even worse than the Seine in the summer._

_There are good things in London, such as the hotel we are staying in. Claridge’s is grand, almost too grand for the likes of me. It is good to sleep in, and I am very sure we’ll be warm despite what everyone has to say about English weather being so rainy. We are also set to dine with the ambassador tonight. I hope it will go well, and it will help me decide if I can be happy staying here till this mission is done. Neville is doing fine, with so many questions. Combeferre and Claudine too are doing well. I know they’ve done more reading and have heard of London more from their colleagues, so they aren’t as surprised as Neville and I have been here._

_I only wish that I will receive your letter soon, where you can tell me about Aix and all our family there. I miss you, Jacques, Laure, Julien, and Etienne very greatly, and I am still sad that I will not see your parents or our other friends this summer. I know I will feel some more warmth and the sun you tell me more about in your writing._

_Please let me know where you will be after Barcelona, if it will be in Madrid or elsewhere so I can send the letter ahead. It will be as if I am waiting there for you._

_All my love,_

_Eponine_

Before she could seal this letter, she heard a clatter from the next room. “What, even here?” Eponine asked, rushing out of her chamber. She saw the flutter of a blue skirt in the hall, before a door quickly shut. “Oh I will get you soon enough!” she swore before going back in her room and locking the door so she could properly seal and address the letter.

Having done so, Eponine quickly changed out of her travelling attire into attire more fit for dinner. She settled on a simple yet elegant maroon dress with a lace collar, having decided that her more embroidered gowns were best suited for other occasions. She dug in her trunk for a small box, from which she brought out a silver necklace with a single pendant worked in the shape of a rose. ‘ _Something to remind you of home, Cosette had said,’_ she thought as she fastened the piece around her neck. She took a few moments to pin her hair back from her face in a neat twist and then give herself a once-over in the mirror before heading out.

Her room on the second floor was connected to the lobby by means of a sweeping grand staircase. As she made her way there, she saw another woman also walking in the same direction. This lady was elegantly dressed in blue, with her dark hair in curls that framed her otherwise severe face. However all of this was lost on Eponine the moment this person stepped under the light.

‘ _No mistaking it,’_ Eponine thought, seeing the scar that ran across the lady’s face. She stood tall and stepped forward to ask, “Good evening, Madame. Maybe you could tell me why you’ve followed us all the way from Dover?”


	8. The Fine Knife of Diplomacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The crossover with Master and Commander begins here. I made a massive AU on this one (based on the "Far Side of the World" movie verse with some book details thrown in). But if you've read only this verse, then you might remember some of these characters anyway.

**Chapter 8: The Fine Knife of Diplomacy**

The lady tossed her head back and laughed; the light streaming from the chandelier showed clearly the silver strands running through her otherwise raven curls. “I am not sure what you mean, young lady!” she said to Eponine in clear, unaccented English. “I am only another guest staying at this hotel.”

“Yes, who arrived only today,” Eponine pointed out, speaking slowly as she always did when handling the English language. “I’m fairly certain I saw you on the morning ferry at Dover, only that you were dressed like a lady’s maid then. You got into a carriage, instead of a train like I did.”

“Perhaps, but what is it to you?” the older woman asked querulously.

“You think I’d forget seeing a line like that?” Eponine said, pointing to her own cheek. ‘ _And I am so sure I saw her before, or it might have been in a dream I had as a girl,’_ she thought.

The matron looked at Eponine for a long moment before a smile crossed her face that was both rueful and bemused. “Your reputation for cleverness is well earned, Mrs. Enjolras. Have a good evening,” she said in a level tone before quickly making her way down the stairs.

“Wait! Who are you?” Eponine asked, hurrying down after this mysterious stranger, only to nearly collide with a porter who was entering the premises with a huge iron trunk in tow. She yelped as she just managed to avoid being knocked over, but when she recovered her composure the older lady was nowhere to be seen. ‘ _How does she know my name?’_ she wondered as she took a seat to wait for her companions.

In short order, Combeferre, Claudine and Neville soon came down the staircase. “Eponine, is something wrong?” Claudine asked upon seeing her friend.

“I’m sure we’re being followed,” Eponine replied quickly. “I met an English lady here who was on the same ferry with us from Dover, which means she was certainly in Calais too.”

“Doesn’t that happen every day?” Neville asked.

“She knew my name,” Eponine argued. “And I am sure I saw her wearing a get up like a maid, and suddenly she was here in Claridge’s looking like a peeress.”

“It isn’t unheard of for some individuals to travel in disguise, for whatever reasons of their own,” Combeferre reasoned. “Perhaps you are nervous from the trip, and need to rest. Your senses might be rather oversensitive at this time.”

“I am perfectly fine and well, Combeferre, and my senses aren’t playing tricks on me,” Eponine retorted. “Maybe it’s nothing, but I do find it odd that we haven’t been here half a day, and there’s already someone who knows of us.”

“Perhaps it might be best for all our sakes to ask the concierge to be discreet,” Claudine suggested. “It may be nothing, but we do not know who else might access that knowledge.”

“Are we all ready for our dinner?” Reynault greeted as he strolled into the lobby. “Lamarre is just having our coach ordered to the front door.”

“Must we always travel all together for the next few months?” Neville asked. “Is it possible to hire one of those hackney coaches or something small from time to time?”

“You will have time for your own excursions, Citizen Thenardier,” Reynault said jovially. “Paris has its diversions for bohemians, while London has its share for its dandies.”

“Yes, but my brother is no dandy,” Eponine cut in. ‘ _And for the rest of us it may as well be a gilded cage until we are through with our missions and they can stop taking notice of us,’_ she realized silently as Lamarre made his appearance once again to notify them that their carriage was at the hotel entrance.

The official residence of the French ambassador to England was located a few blocks away from Claridge’s, such that Neville actually wondered aloud if it would have been better for them to have walked. All the same, Eponine was glad that they had taken the carriage even for this short trip. ‘ _If only to keep our shoes looking presentable and not tracking dirt on the carpet,’_ she thought as she alighted from the coach and got a good view of the wall to wall carpeting in the foyer.

Lamarre looked around, as if counting their party. “Citizenness Combeferre, you will need to accompany Citizenness Enjolras into the house and out. It will not do for a married woman to be seen walking around alone or in the company of a man, even with a male relation,” he explained. “However remember that before dinner, the ambassador may designate one or more gentlemen to escort you in and be your companion at the table.”

Claudine smirked as she grabbed Eponine’s arm. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”

“Does that hold even if it’s the Roman fashion to walk backwards, with your boots on your head?” Eponine asked.

“A certain amount of silliness is expected in most places and histories,” Claudine said.

Eponine only sighed deeply as they entered the house, where a rather bored looking manservant showed them to the door of a drawing room. ‘ _Is he seriously going to announce all of us?’_ she wondered, only to cringe when the manservant stumbled over her married surname. ‘ _I have never heard the ‘r’ pronounced so shrilly before,’_ she thought, fighting to keep a straight face as she and Claudine entered the room, followed by Combeferre, Neville, and lastly the two diplomats.

The room had but three occupants, two of them listening to a lanky man with wispy graying hair, dressed rather soberly in a blue coat, with straight cut pantaloons and a cravat to match. He was rather at ease on a couch in the middle of the room, but immediately got to his feet and adopted a straight posture upon hearing of the new arrivals. “Good evening, friends. I trust you have settled in well in your accommodations?” he greeted in a halting, almost hoarse voice.

Lamarre made a polite bow. “Ambassador Delaroche, I am pleased to introduce my colleague Citizen Reynault as well as our honored guests: Citizenness Enjolras our guest at this embassy, as well as Citizen Combeferre and his wife Citizenness Combeferre. The Combeferres will be presenting at the Royal Society soon, with the help of their protégé Citizen Thenardier, who is Citizenness’ Enjolras brother.”

“Welcome to England,” Delaroche said in English, bowing in turn to the newcomers. “You have arrived at a good time, spring is here and the weather promises to be temperate.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Citizen,” Reynault said enthusiastically in French. “So far everything is in order and surpasses expectations.”

Delaroche smiled and bowed, but with an embarrassed air. “I’d like to introduce our counterparts and guides. I am aware that Citizen Combeferre at least is acquainted with Dr. Stephen Maturin, one of the finest surgeons on both sides of the Channel,” he said, nodding to a pale, slenderly built man with close cropped grey hair.

“A pleasure to meet you again, Doctor Maturin,” Combeferre said in English. “I attended your lectures at the medical school in Paris, before 1830.”

Dr. Maturin looked at Combeferre through hooded blue eyes before his face brightened with a spark of recognition. “And so, you were. Apart from your forays into physics, are you still practicing Medicine?” he asked.

“I maintain a small clinic in Paris,” Combeferre answered. “But admittedly more of my time is taken up with my joint venture with Mrs. Combeferre and the students we are mentoring, young Mr. Thenardier being one of them.”

Delaroche cleared his throat. “I would also like to introduce Mrs. Calamy, the wife of Admiral Calamy of the Mediterranean fleet. She also assists Dr. Maturin on his scientific ventures and will assist Citizenness Enjolras during her stay.”

Eponine almost started on hearing this introduction. ‘ _Yes, I have seen her, at the Rue de Bac!’_ she realized. It had been ten years since Eponine had last seen this woman on French soil, but she hadn’t quite forgotten the Englishwoman’s part in several counterrevolutionary schemes that had caused significant turmoil in the fledgling Republic. ‘ _Nor of course of the fright she gave me tonight at Claridges,’_ she thought. “A pleasure to finally be introduced,” Eponine finally said, just managing a level tone.

“The honor is mine,” Mrs. Calamy said, nodding slightly but never letting her blasé smile slip even for a moment. “Unfortunately, the Admiral will not be able to join us this evening as he is still reviewing his squadrons.”

“A pity, for he would have had many stories to regale us with over dinner,” Delaroche said. “Have any of you been to the Mediterranean?” he asked his guests.

“Only as far as the coast, on Marseille,” Neville replied.

“That is barely scratching the surface. Dr. Maturin has roots in what is known as the Catalan area of Spain, while Mrs. Calamy has accompanied her husband on some of his voyages,” Delaroche said amiably. “We should let them tell us more about it.”

‘ _While you say nothing about my husband’s errand, of course,’_ Eponine would have said but she bit the inside of her cheek. Instead she looked once again at Mrs. Calamy. “Which particular voyages were those? Ten years ago?” she asked with a smile.

“Earlier, during the war against Napoleon Bonaparte,” the admiral’s wife deadpanned. “It was probably long before you were born, Mrs. Enjolras.”

“ I was born before the Bourbons returned,” Eponine pointed out. “The only one of us here who was not yet on God’s good earth at that time is my brother here.”

“I could tell you about some of these voyages when we have less pressing business on hand,” Mrs. Calamy said. “That is if your Parisian sensibilities would not be offended by what our brave British tars have endured at sea.”

“I’ve translated some of their stories for different English and French papers, especially those dealing with conditions at the dockyards.”

“Interesting, and I was not aware your skill set extended to that as well!”

“This is a fine debate, ladies, but dinner is served!” Delaroche said with a laugh. He bowed to Eponine. “As you are our embassy’s guest, it is my honor to take you into dinner. Citizen Combeferre will escort Mrs. Calamy, while I am sure it will be Dr. Maturin’s pleasure to take in Citizenness Combeferre,” he continued as he offered his arm.

“With pleasure, Citizen Delaroche,” Eponine said, taking his arm. ‘ _If only to keep the peace during dinner,’_ she thought as their entire party exited the drawing room.

It was not long till Eponine realized that she was caught up between two disconcerting forces: the sumptuousness of the dinner set before them, and the ennui of Delaroche’s attempts at conversation to her left. ‘ _I shall be hard pressed to stay awake after two thick soups, two fish dishes, and all these meats,’_ she thought as she surveyed the extravagant selection before her. The mains course consisted of stuffed turkey smelling strongly of sage and sausages, a roasted haunch of venison served with vegetables and a mint jelly, and braised veal that was practically floating in a rich, thick gravy.

“In France, is it still fashionable to serve a single course when you have dinner parties?” Mrs. Calamy asked as she daintily wiped her mouth.

“Each hostess does as she can according to her means,” Claudine said, looking up from the meat she was cutting.

“That is true, one must be practical. It is in such poor taste to go into debt just to throw a party,” Mrs. Calamy concurred. “This fashionable frugality is a far cry from the Paris my father used to tell me about, in the stories of his youth.”

“A time when Versailles drained the bakeshops of Paris,” Eponine said under her breath.

Combeferre coughed before taking a sip of wine. “It might be said that the custom of maintaining a few, even just a single course when entertaining is more wholesome and healthier for the constitution,” he said. “If I recall, Dr. Maturin has written a treatise on the subject?”

“More on the excesses of the seafarer’s grog, but yes an overly rich diet has also ruined many a commissioned officer before his time,” Dr. Maturin replied. “Eating like one is at a formal banquet, coupled with the limited activity one may have on board a ship, will eventually ruin the liver and provoke such painful attacks of gout that may necessitate being on shore leave.”

“With all due respect my dear doctor, a ship at war requires one to be in prime condition, and of course such excesses must not be condoned. I speak though of peace time,” Mrs. Calamy said as she set down her glass of wine.

“And what difference does that make?” Eponine asked.

Mrs. Calamy looked straight at her. “When conditions permit and one is in a settled life be it in the city or country, one can and should live according to his or her station. Yes it is not fitting for a household of modest means to empty its purse entirely for a single evening’s entertainment, but it is also false humility for a household that is well to do to play at dining like peasants.”

“Why, is there shame in being sensible by choosing to live according to what will better one’s physical constitution? The worms in the graveyards do not distinguish between men and women’s stations,” Eponine quipped.

The Englishwoman’s cheeks flushed even as she picked up her wine again. “Frenchwomen these days,” she muttered.

Delaroche cleared his throat. “Before we get carried away on the merits of diet, we need to discuss some of our itinerary in London,” he said. “Beginning tomorrow morning we will have the opportunity to call on some members of parliament. We will also have to schedule an official visit to Prince Albert.”

“You mean the husband of the Queen?” Eponine asked. “But what does he have to do with it?”

“The Queen has only just recovered after birthing another heir,” Delaroche said. “When she is heavy with child, or in her confinement or recovering from it, it is Prince Albert who takes over most of her duties. He acts as her private secretary, and it is imperative we go through him in order to secure an audience with the Queen.”

Eponine’s jaw dropped. “And how am I supposed to do that?”


	9. A Difference in Tongues

**Chapter 9: A Difference in Tongues**

In those days there was no straight train route between Aix and Nimes, thus it was imperative for Enjolras and Jacques to leave early the next morning on the diligence for a several day-long trip. “From Nimes, how do we get to Barcelona?” Jacques asked on their first morning away from Aix.

“There is a train to Perpignan, then we must ride along the coast and meet our Spanish guides at Portbou. It is only then we will be allowed passage to Barcelona,” Enjolras explained.

Jacques frowned for a moment. “But isn’t there a route through the Pyrenees, taken often by the pilgrims heading to Santiago de Compostela?”

“Yes, but it starts at Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port in the southwest of France, and a pilgrim would enter Spain through Roncesvalles,” Enjolras said, taking some moments to recall his geography. ‘ _As scenic as that route is said to be, the political questions of northern Spain require us to be in Barcelona instead,’_ he thought.

“Maybe someday,” Jacques mused aloud. “Who was that Citizenness Berlioz who was at the diligence stop in Aix?”

“A daughter of one of my mother’s friends.”

“But Aunt Monique never mentioned a Berlioz.”

“Much has changed in my mother’s circles over the years,” Enjolras pointed out. ‘ _The Revolution surely saw to that,’_ he mused. Not only had it clarified the various political divisions and alliances among the long-standing families of Aix, it had also ended all of Monique’s attempts to get him to pay court to any of the town’s eligible heiresses.

Jacques nodded pensively. “If you hadn’t met my sister, would you have married Citizenness Berlioz or some other woman from Aix?” he asked at length.

“Until I went to Paris, I did not offer more than cordiality to any of the girls in Aix. And with all the things I had to do between school and constantly preparing for revolution, I did not deem it a good use of my time to engage in courting or gallantry,” Enjolras answered. ‘ _And after that, the world changed, and so did Eponine and I with it,’_ he thought, glancing out the diligence window at the southern countryside.

After an unhindered passage, they arrived in Nimes on the afternoon of April 7. Their first order of business was to head to the _Guildsman Inn_ , which looked rather inconspicuous beside the splendid Roman architecture of its neighbors. However upon entering this relatively humble house, the traveler was treated to the rich smells of various stews set to simmer for most of the day. “Has Citizen D’Aramitz arrived here yet?” Enjolras asked the bored-looking concierge as they were checking in.

The concierge looked through the register. “No, we do not have anyone by that name registered. Should I notify you if he arrives?” he asked.

“Yes, that would be appreciated,” Enjolras said even as another figure suddenly walked in, nearly slamming the door open. In contrast to the commotion this entrance created, the newcomer was slender, almost slight in build, with wispy hair that seemed diaphanous under the afternoon light. A hooked nose and narrow chin completed this unsettling caricature. Enjolras nodded to this other guest. “Citizen D’Aramitz, I presume?” he asked.

“The very man, Citizen Enjolras,” the diplomat said, nodding in return. “I wasn’t expecting you to arrive till tomorrow.”

“Our trip did not face any complications,” Enjolras replied.

“That is well, very well, so we can take the early train down to Perpignan,” D’Aramitz replied, with something of a smile crossing his sepulchral visage. He nodded to Jacques. “And you must be Citizen Thenardier. You’re the spitting image of your sister; I saw her at one of those women’s assemblies when I was last in Paris.”

“Indeed. We will see you later after we have settled in,” Enjolras said, noticing that Jacques seemed agitated. He waited to speak again only when they were upstairs in their accommodation, which was a large room with two beds set in separate alcoves. “Is something the matter?”

“Nothing, only that he seems less like a diplomat and more like a gravedigger,” Jacques said, clearly trying to keep a straight face as he set down his coat on one of the beds. He paused and went to the window. “That’s odd, I thought I saw someone on the garden wall.”

“The wall?” Enjolras asked. The inn had a small yard, protected by a high brick wall covered here and there with vines. He peered out the window and saw nothing but the garden disturbed only by a few large birds. “Perhaps it was just another of those,” he mused aloud.

Jacques shrugged. “I was sure it was much bigger,” he muttered as he brushed out his coat.

‘ _Probably a bird, honestly,’_ Enjolras told himself, in a bid to put this oddity out of his mind. Had he any talent for sketching he might have made a quick rendering of the garden birds to send to Neville or Combeferre, but instead he settled for making a careful note of its characteristics in one of his small notebooks: ‘ _All white with plumes, short legs, yellow bill and a posture that is hunched.’_

Dinner that evening at the inn centered around a _cassoulet_ , that acclaimed stew of several meats and beans. “I take this is far richer than almost anything else in the kitchens of the Midi,” D’Aramitz said proudly as he sat at table with Enjolras and Jacques. “Every house has its own _cassoulet_ , but this inn has a very specific sausage they use for it, alongside the best mutton and goose of course. I go here every time I stop in Nimes.”

“How is the cooking like in Spain?” Jacques asked after slurping a hearty mouthful of stew.

“Like in France, it varies from region to region. The fare in Barcelona and its neighbors in the Catalan region takes heavily from the bounty of the Mediterranean and you might find it akin to some of what we have here in the Midi,” D’Aramitz began. “When you go south, towards Madrid, you will have your fill of fried foods as well as exquisite pastries.”

Enjolras took the time to wash down a swallow of stew with a good draught of water; the stew felt far too rich and heavy in his mouth for his liking. “I am aware our route will not take us through the Basque country, but I would like to know how the Basques’ concerns stand with the current regime,” he said.

“They run contrary. The Basques would like to maintain their self-governance, while the Regent would prefer that the area’s administration be on par with that of other Spanish provinces,” D’Aramitz said, lowering his voice. “I would advise you not mention this matter while we are in Madrid, most especially!”

“I see,” Enjolras said, even as he raised an eyebrow at D’Aramitz’s suddenly cryptic and perturbed mien. “Where will we be met by the ambassador?”

“Citizen Belmont will be with us in Barcelona, unless some matter detains him in Madrid,” D’Aramitz replied. He dropped his voice once again. “He is under much strain due to the current situation not only between France and Spain, but also with Spain’s internal troubles.”

‘ _Akin to standing in a room of gunpowder,’_ Enjolras realized, taking care not to look at Jacques, who was more occupied with a second serving of _cassoulet_. At that moment he saw a server approaching their table with a discomfited air. “Is something the matter, Citizen?”

“I was asked to give you this, Citizen Enjolras,” the server said, putting a carefully folded note onto the table.

Enjolras unfolded the paper to find only the drawing of a bouquet of lilies. When he set down this mysterious picture he found that the heady fragrance of this bloom clung to his fingers. ‘ _No signature,’_ he realized as he turned the note over and then looked around the room for any sign of its sender. He met Jacques’ and D’Aramitz’s questioning looks. “Some peculiar joke,” he said.

“I saw the flower. You have an admirer, and that isn’t surprising,” D’Aramitz said with a hollow laugh. “You might come up with a collection by the end of our trip, and that’s only the Spanish leg of yours.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow even as he crumpled the note, knowing better than to toss such heavily scented matter into a fire. The rest of the evening passed without any other unusual events, thus allowing the three travelers to slumber undisturbed in time for the morning train to Perpignan.

Unlike Nimes, Perpignan was a decidedly more forward town in terms of its architecture and economy; here the traders of the southwest of France had put up a prosperous market that took in goods from the region as well as the more proximal parts of the Mediterranean. “And yet they still cannot find a way to get over those mountains,” Jacques remarked as he got his first glimpse of the peaks of the Pyrenees.

“It would require a _miracle_ of engineering,” D’Aramitz said gravely. 

“It would be possible if there were more adequate foothills,” Enjolras pointed out, noting the steep slopes a few miles off. The climate in Perpignan was far warmer than what he was used to in Paris or even in Aix, and it was all he could do not to unbutton his coat or roll up his sleeves.

D’Aramitz nodded. “Because of this we have the blessing of a scenic route along the coast with a number of stops for fresh horses,” he added before hailing a diligence. After conferring for a few moments with the driver, he nodded to his companions. “We will be brought as far as the border. God willing, we will find a coach on the other side that can bring us all with our luggage, but we may have to hail more than one coach or a team of horses,” he explained.

Enjolras gritted his teeth at this unwieldy arrangement, but he knew better than to cross D’Aramitz at this juncture. As he helped load up the specially hired diligence, he glanced back at the coast, which stretched back northeast to Nimes, then further on to Provence. _‘This I know, but everything beyond is terra incognita,’_ he thought as he boarded the coach.

The sinuous route from Perpignan down through Banyuls-sur-Mer and then Cerbere offered sweeping vistas of the northern Mediterranean, such that Jacques was sorely tempted to ask the coach to stop so he could try to sketch the landscape. “If this was a leisurely trip, then by all means. But as it is, we are expected in Barcelona and must make haste,” Enjolras reminded him on their second day of travel after a few incidents of this sort.

“But we might not pass this way again,” Jacques pointed out. “Especially if we are making our way back through Italy then Aix!”

Enjolras sighed deeply, noting D’Aramitz’s disapproving look. “The next best thing you could do is to commit it to memory and set it down in a letter,” he said.

Jacques crossed his arms. “I wish we had a camera obscura that could capture it all.” His eyes went wide as the carriage came to a stop. “We are at the border already?”

“Yes, and we must change coaches,” D’Aramitz said. He alighted from the carriage, which had stopped in front of a small cottage that clearly served as both barracks and outpost for the border guard. After a few moments he returned and signified to the coachman that they were to unload all the baggage. “The guards on the Spanish side will find us another carriage,” he reassured Enjolras and Jacques.

As Enjolras alighted to help out with the baggage, he could not help but notice how the border guards conversed with one another in a decidedly unfamiliar accent. ‘ _Or at least something that doesn’t sound like the Spanish we have been picking up before this trip,’_ he thought. He listened to the guards for a few more moments and glanced at Jacques to meet his puzzled expression. “Perhaps it is a dialect,” he mused aloud as he unloaded the last of the bags.

He caught sight of D’Aramitz sitting sedately outside the outpost. “Citizen D’Aramitz, is there a different dialect of Spanish spoken in these parts?” Enjolras asked calmly.

D’Aramitz looked at him steadily. “It is the official language of Spain.”

“But not the vernacular.”

“Well this is the region known as Catalonia, and they speak Catalan here as well as Spanish.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “And you are only informing us of this now?”

“Is it not the same as Occitan?” D’Aramitz asked. “I know you are proficient in it, having grown up in Provence.”

“Yes, I can speak and understand Occitan, enough to know that it is very different from French, Spanish or even Catalan for that matter,” Enjolras pointed out. He leveled a look at D’Aramitz, and saw the older man swallow hard. “I understand that official business will probably be conducted in Spanish. Knowing, or at least being able to understand the gist of Catalan would have been an advantage,” he added.

D’Aramitz sat up stiffly. “Are you doubting my skills as an interpreter?”

“Those are beyond question,” Enjolras replied before walking off to look at the Spanish border and the town of Portbou half hidden by a sudden mist rolling in from the sea.


	10. Catalonia

**Chapter 10: Catalonia**

After a quick rest at an inn in Portbou, the trio were soon on a fast coach bound south for the two-day journey to Barcelona. Enjolras did not say anything more about D’Aramitz’s oversight, but he made it a point to carefully observe the diplomat’s interactions with the coachmen, the innkeepers, and anyone else they chanced to meet who spoke Catalan. ‘ _If only to prevent any misunderstanding,’_ he thought during a stop at an inn some hours after they had passed Girona.

Across the table, Jacques looked up from his repast of bread topped with a salty _salchichon_ sausage. “They don’t exactly speak Spanish here, do they?” he asked in an undertone.

“It’s a different language called Catalan,” Enjolras explained. Even now he could hear the innkeeper conversing loudly with some other patrons, but by this time he had learned to divine something of their conversation at least based on gestures and accents. “There are some similarities to Spanish, but one has to note the differences in pronunciation.”

Jacques’ ruddy cheeks reddened further. “I tried speaking Spanish, to ask where the lavatory was. No wonder I was not understood.”

Enjolras nodded grimly even as he turned his attention back to where D’Aramitz was sitting by the doorway, smoking yet another cigar while looking out in the distance. ‘ _What dealings might he be embroiled in?’_ he wondered silently. And for that matter could the same be said for the official envoy of France to this kingdom?

As if noticing Enjolras’ sudden scrutiny, D’Aramitz snuffed out his cigar and returned to the table. “We should be in Barcelona by nightfall; the horses are being hitched to our carriage even now as we speak,” he said, smiling slightly. “We will have much better fare than sausages there.”

“That is good to know,” Enjolras said. “You know this route very well. How long have you been associated with our embassy?”

“Five years. Before this I was a barrister in Toulouse,” D’Aramitz replied. He grinned at Jacques. “Perhaps you will find yourself in the legal profession too, like your brother-in-law.”

“I would rather be an author,” Jacques said under his breath as they got to their feet and headed outside to board the carriage once again. Being refreshed from his light meal, he began whistling a ditty from school, stopping only when he saw D’Aramitz nodding off.

As for Enjolras he looked now and then to the carriage windows, where he had a good view of the coastal road and the occasional wooded areas nearby. At length he caught sight of a large buildings on the horizon; after a while it became clear that he was looking at the bell towers of old churches and the imposing edifices of old palaces. “So, this is Barcelona,” he muttered.

D’Aramitz yawned, having been jolted awake by the carriage’s jolting. “Yes, it is,” he said upon taking stock of their bearings. “Very wholesome architecture, but it isn’t characteristic of Spain unfortunately. If one goes south to Andalusia, the buildings there have an extravagant, Moorish bent to them.”

Jacques frowned at this. “Jean Prouvaire and my sister Azelma have shown me pictures of Moorish things, from their plays. I think they look very well made and intricate.”

“Ah yes, your Orientalist relations,” D’Aramitz said, pursing his lips slightly with disdain.

“They do their best to represent the known world in their works,” Enjolras pointed out.

By the time they arrived in the bustling neighborhood of La Barceloneta, where the French ambassador had a residence, the sun had virtually set. D’Aramitz pointed proudly to the bright streetlamps as they passed. “Spain is catching up. The first gas lamps in the city are in this city.”

“How recent?” Enjolras asked.

“Only last year.”

“What! But it isn’t so difficult to get streets lit up!” Jacques exclaimed. “I saw how they lit the lamps near home, and it only took months to do.”

“Months to install but perhaps longer to approve,” Enjolras pointed out as they rode along past fishermen finishing their day’s work, shopkeepers closing up for the night, and the occasional street musician strumming on a guitar. At last they arrived at a long villa that boasted wide, well lit patios on both floors. Only a French flag on the gate gave a hint as to its official function. ‘ _Other than that, it would look like nearly every other coastal home in this area,’_ he observed as they alighted to help porters unload their baggage.

D’Aramitz made a beeline for a tall, well-built figure waiting in the ground floor patio. “Citizen Belmont, it is good that you have been able to meet us here,” he said in French. He nodded to Enjolras and Jacques. “I have the pleasure of introducing Citizen Enjolras and Citizen Thenardier.”

Belmont smiled broadly and held out a hand to Enjolras and then to Jacques. Although he was dressed formally as any diplomat would be at a reception, his countenance was more fitting for a merry fireside at a farm than at a hall of cut glass and chandeliers. “Welcome to Barcelona. I am Citizen Luc Belmont, the ambassador of France to Spain. The pleasure is mine to receive you tonight; I have been long overdue for a trip away from Madrid after all.”

“The ambassador must maintain a residence in each of the provinces; such is the precarious nature of governance here,” D’Aramitz explained in an undertone.

“You make it sound like a terrible thing, my friend,” Belmont said, momentarily slinging his arm around D’Aramitz’s thin shoulders. He brought an envelope out of one of his coat pockets. “This came in the diplomatic mail coach today, and I am sure it will delight you very much, Citizen Enjolras,” he added as he handed it over to its designated recipient.

‘ _Right on time,’_ Enjolras thought, not hiding his smile upon recognizing the handwriting on the missive. “I thank you very much, Citizen Belmont,” he said as he pocketed the letter.

“We will have much good food in a while, though I must ask your patience since my cook runs on Madrid timing than Parisian timing, thus it will be at a later hour than you might be accustomed to,” Belmont said. He called to a footman before giving some instructions in Catalan. “In the meantime I will show you to your rooms in this house. You will have time to settle in and breathe in the sea air before we have dinner out on the patio,” he said to his guests.

“It will be like a picnic but with chairs!” Jacques said enthusiastically.

“A moonlit picnic? Well on a summer night that would be very good,” Belmont agreed as he showed them into the house and up a large wooden staircase to the second floor. “This house was built for receiving large parties, so each of you will have your own room.”

It was all that Enjolras could do not to smirk on seeing Jacques’ too obvious sigh of relief. ‘ _Then again he has shared a room with his brothers for so many years,’_ he noted as he entered the bedchamber designated for him. He nodded appreciatively upon looking around this spacious chamber, which was furnished with a large four poster bed made of hardwood and topped with a luxurious mattress, ornately carved chests of drawers, glass lanterns, and a capacious writing desk with an armchair. ‘ _A room that is better for two,’_ he could not help noting.

After setting down his belongings, he immediately opened the letter that had been handed to him. ‘ _Eponine definitely lost no time indeed in writing,’_ he thought bemusedly as he read through her account of her arrival in London. He smoothed out this received missive on the desk before unpacking his own supply of note paper, as well as some ink and his pen to set out these words.

_April 12, 1842_

_Barcelona, Spain_

_Eponine,_

_I greatly hope that this reply to your letter nine days ago, on the 3 rd of April, finds you in good health and uplifted spirits. It is quite possible that I will receive shortly your reply to my letter from Aix, also dated on the 3rd of April but posted on the 4th. as we set out for Nimes_. _I am sure that tidings of our family in Aix has cheered you greatly, and perhaps also eased your worries._

_You could almost say there were no events during our journey from Aix to Nimes, then Nimes all the way through Perpignan then on to Barcelona via the coast. The heat protracted the length of this journey rather significantly; under such conditions the horses tire more easily and must be changed with fresh teams, rested and watered more often. This pace though allows for more observation of the landscape but not so long enough to permit sketching or painting, much to Jacques’ disappointment._

_The one frustration we have had is the surprising discovery that here in this part of Spain, the more commonly used tongue is not Spanish. It is Catalan---which I should have surmised from Barcelona being in Catalonia, but Spanish is still the official language of public transactions. We shall be hard pressed to learn as much of Catalan as we can, at least enough to avoid any unfortunate missteps in everyday communication._

_Barcelona is charming in its own way, for its fortuitous seaside location. However it lacks much of the grandeur of Paris or other cities such as Orleans, Lyon, or even Aix. As you know the restoration and improvement of our metropolitan centers has been prioritized by our Ministry of Public Works, but no such urgency exists in this part of Spain. Many of the edifices here in Barcelona are old, perhaps even medieval. Despite its significance in politics and economy---for it is a coastal city with a port that is at least as busy as Le Havre, the populace is compressed in an area comparable to the oldest parts of Paris surrounding the Seine. Perhaps the coming years will see this further expansion of Barcelona, both within and without._

_We should leave this city by the end of this month. Our next stop will be in Zaragoza for only a few days, and we will spend much of May in Madrid before departing for Italy straight after._

_Please send my regards to Neville and the Combeferres. I look forward to receiving your next letter very soon._

_Yours always,_

_Antoine_

As he set this letter out to dry, he heard a knock on his door. “Citizen Enjolras, dinner is served downstairs,” a servant called.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow on checking his watch and finding it was ten in the evening. ‘ _Not surprising considering the Spanish habit of the siesta,’_ he thought while he smoothed out his clothes and headed to the door. Upon stepping out into the hallway he was greeted by the mingled aromas of cheese, butter, onions, and a variety of herbs. ‘ _Quite unusual,’_ he observed as he headed to the downstairs patio.

A large table flanked with ornately carved chairs was set up in the middle of the patio, overlooking the sea illuminated by fishermen’s lights and the moon. Four platters of different viands surrounded a large basket of loaves and flat breads. “Look, a feast!” Jacques said by way of greeting from where he was seated.

“You have outdone yourself this time,” D’Aramitz said sardonically to Belmont, who was at the head of the table.

“I am merely indulging myself with some favorites from my hometown, Lyon,” Belmont explained, gesturing to a large ramekin filled with baked cheese, as well as a platter of sautéed tripe. “But it is my job to introduce you to Spain, or at least beginning with Catalonia, hence these other dishes to round out our meal.”

Enjolras now saw that one of the two remaining platters contained a large mackerel in yellow sauce, while the other dish contained eggplants and peppers grilled with spices. “A most interesting selection.”

“What is the fish called?” Jacques asked Belmont.

“Here in Spain, this style of cooking is an _escabeche_ , with vinegar as the prime souring ingredient. The saffron is for coloring and flavor; you won’t find a finer spice in the Mediterranean or even as far as Mesopotamia. The vegetables should be familiar to all of us Frenchmen, but here in Barcelona they call this an _escalivada_ ,” Belmont said. “Please, eat.”

“In Provence they simply call these vegetables _ratatouille_. Isn’t that correct, Citizen Enjolras?” D’Aramitz asked, giving Enjolras a sidelong glance. 

“Yes. It is a most wholesome dish,” Enjolras said as he took a serving of the _escalivada_ as well as the _escabeche_. The slightly sour flavor of the fish was a shock at first but was tempered aptly with a mouthful of the grilled vegetables. As he ate, he noticed that D’Aramitz only picked at his own food, in contrast to the hearty way that Jacques and Belmont were enjoying the meal. ‘ _A homesick stomach perhaps,’_ he observed.

“France is incomparable, but even I say there is a certain fire to the way people live and love here in Spain,” Belmont remarked as they were waiting for dessert and coffee to be brought out. “You in particular might enjoy it here,” he said to Jacques.

“Why so?” Jacques asked.

“I believe when we have occasion to be at a ball or a party, you will understand,” Belmont replied gaily. “And Citizen Enjolras, at a better time you and your wife might be persuaded to visit here. It is a most vibrant country when it is not being overly religious.”

“During another summer, perhaps,” Enjolras replied. “Now, what are we to expect here in Barcelona, then in Madrid?”

“We will be met here in Barcelona by some principal figures from this region of Catalonia, as well as Navarre and the Basque country,” Belmont said. “Then in Zaragoza we will meet with deputies from Galicia, Asturias, and Cantabria. Then in Madrid we will meet everyone else!”

“Is there any reason that we will have three separate meetings, in lieu of one?”

“Distance is one. The second is preference.”

Enjolras nodded, more so when he noticed D’Aramitz’s eyes narrow. ‘ _All will be clear in time,’_ he reminded himself as the party was served trays of cream-filled pastries and cups of strong coffee. Somewhere on the beach a musician had started to play a rich but melancholy Catalan ballad, the very strains of which made a few of the servants on the patio sigh or shed a tear. ‘ _Like Prouvaire’s old poems in the Musain,’_ Enjolras could not help but think. Belmont seemed to know the music well, for he had his eyes closed and was humming along. Jacques was listening intently, and soon got up to walk to the edge of the patio to listen better. Only D’Aramitz seemed unmoved and had begun to smoke yet another cigar.

A servant suddenly entered the patio, clutching a folded paper. “This is for him,” the servant said quickly, gesturing to Enjolras.

D’Aramitz smirked bemusedly. “You have not been in Barcelona for a night, and you already have a note? What reputation precedes you?” he asked Enjolras.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow even as he unfolded the heavily perfumed paper to reveal these words. “ _I will follow you wherever you go, till you notice me.”_ This time he tore the note in two before crumpling each piece. “It looks like some joke,” he said with undisguised irritation. “Probably arranged by some friends who know our itinerary.”

Jacques shook his head. “They’d send something more outrageous, and not bathed in ladies’ perfume,” he pointed out.

Belmont sternly summoned the servant to issue some more instructions in Catalan. His merry mien was now grave as he looked at his guests. “You must take care when receiving anything in these parts, even a trivial note. Barcelona is beautiful like a rose, but the fairest roses have the sharpest thorns.”


	11. The Older Victoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have not read "When Apollo Met Persephone" yet, please please turn back and read that first! 
> 
> For the crossover element, I am following the Master and Commander movie for the most part for the backstory of Dr. Maturin and his friends (give or take a few details such as who lives, who dies, and who is in this story).

**Chapter 11: The Older Victoria**

Eponine knew better than to expect that the next day would yield any meeting with the English royals or any of their representatives. ‘ _We’d be lucky to even meet one of their Parliament members soon,’_ she thought on the morning of the 7th of April as she sat in her room at Claridge’s, working on her correspondence. Several finished letters were already piled up on her desk, ready to be mailed as soon as she was finished with the one she was penning:

_April 7, 1842_

_Claridge’s, London_

_Dear Musichetta,_

_Enclosed with this letter are a few pictures that I have managed to purchase or sketch myself of what I have seen here in England so far. I will try my best to describe these to you, but some must be seen to be believed._

_Feuilly was right about one thing: England is ridiculous! I do not mean that everything looks all wrong here, but quite the opposite. Everything here is done ‘just so’ and ‘proper British fashion’ such that I think a wax figure would be more at home here than a Frenchman or Frenchwoman! First things, the dresses. I understand that English gowns are all the rage even in Paris, but I know that they are done artfully and comfortably by our seamstresses. A single petticoat is what we do at home, but here in London one must have at least two. Shoulders are bared here and sleeves are narrower. The result is having some freedom up on top, but feeling encumbered from the waist down with all the starch and lace needed to keep a skirt bouffant. I shall not even attempt to wear anything of this sort unless absolutely necessary._

_The question of English manners is also vexing. In Paris one may visit anyone freely and stay for as long as one is made to feel welcome. Here in London they have actual hours “to call”. Their morning call is not in the morning for most people. It is usually past noon, such as one I had to make yesterday to a Baron that Citizen Lamarre was insistent we meet for some matter on trade. I served as his translator for ten whole minutes, not even enough time for him to set down his hat before he showed us both out the door. Apparently a call is nothing more than a polite introduction in some cases, or a means to receive an invitation to dinner once again._

_Before I get carried away with describing more English foibles, I need to ask your help with gathering whatever news items regarding our society and its counterparts in other cities. I have also written to Nicholine and Grantaire for help with getting all that paper together. I do not know if there is a way you can safely send clippings or reproductions of such in an envelope all the way here, but I would be happy with a summary of sorts._

_Send my happy greetings to Joly, Bossuet, Marthe, and all your little ones._

_Your friend,_

_Eponine_

The young woman snorted just from imagining her friend’s reaction upon reading this letter. “I had better keep it gay and with few cares; I cannot tell her of who I saw here,” she whispered. Outside of meetings and visits related to either the diplomatic work or the Combeferres’ lecture series, Eponine had seen very little of her guide Mrs. Calamy. She pulled out another sheet of paper to begin on another missive, this one without a date.

_If you can be spared some time, I need a little help regarding someone who was in Pantin years ago or even more recently. One who once employed someone with a taste for using a lingre on swells right after the revolution or throwing sparks into the Place de Notre Dame._

_If it is a biscuit, let me know._

After letting it dry, she carefully folded up this very short note and placed it in the folds of another more voluminous missive addressed to Gavroche. ‘ _If it gets lost or misplaced, so much less the harm for him,’_ she decided. ‘ _I only need to know if that Mrs. Calamy was in Paris at any other time after her minion Magnon was imprisoned.’_

As if her thoughts had summoned this guide, a knock now sounded on Eponine’s bedroom door. “Mrs. Enjolras, may I speak with you? It is urgent,” Mrs. Calamy called from outside.

“After a minute,” Eponine replied, quickly folding and sealing the open missives on the desk. In her haste she dripped some hot wax on her fingers, forcing her to bite back a cry of surprise. “That sticks too hard!” she whispered through gritted teeth as she threw a shawl around her shoulders before going to the door.

“Did I interrupt you in anything important?” Mrs. Calamy greeted. She was wearing dark blue morning dress paired with a non-descript bonnet and shawl. “You seem rather occupied.”

“Just a few notes,” Eponine said, managing a smile. “With all the assistance requested from the diplomats ever since we arrived, it’s only now that I’ve had time to tell my other siblings and our friends that we’ve arrived safely in England.”

“And writing to your husband of course?”

“I posted my letter to him the day after we arrived, and I am awaiting his reply.”

Mrs. Calamy nodded. “That is good.” As she stepped into the room, she set down her bonnet and her shawl. “I am not going to stand on ceremony or feign unfamiliarity. I know you know who I am,” she said, looking straight at Eponine, who had just resumed her seat. 

“Yes. You were a sort of spy and have been even since the time of the Emperor,” Eponine said bluntly as she got to her feet again. “You lied at dinner with Citizen Delaroche; you were in Paris after the revolution ten years ago too. I saw you at the Rue de Bac.”

“What I said was no lie either,” Mrs. Calamy said. “I was much younger than you are now, when I was involved with the British activities against Napoleon Bonaparte in the Mediterranean.”

‘ _Which is probably where she got that scar,’_ Eponine thought, noticing how the light fell on the line that crossed the older woman’s face. “I know of that. And after all of it, you came back to Paris again, and brought in an assassin,” she hissed.

Mrs. Calamy crossed her arms. “And what is that to you?”

“He threw an explosive right into a big meeting we had outside Notre Dame. Fifteen people died that day, I saw them!” Eponine added, her voice shaking slightly. For a moment she saw once more shattered timbers, blood and fire, but she willed herself to speak once more. “He came after my friends, one of them being an old woman at that. I very nearly died trying to save her in her own house. And at his trial he tried to kill again. I was there too, and he would have killed my husband if he hadn’t been faster.”

“Had I known that Olivier Magnon would resort to such violence, I would not have received him when he came to England asking for assistance for the nobles he claimed to work with.” The Englishwoman paused and shook her head remorsefully. “But he deceived us, for as it turned out he was not championing Louis-Philippe as he claimed to be. It was never my intention that he would single out you and yours for destruction, and I am truly sorry for it.”

‘ _Wolf that Magnon was, he deceived us all,’_ Eponine thought, taking a deep breath to regain her composure. “Who are you, in truth?” she finally asked.

“Well in France you would address me formally as Citizenness Victoria Calamy _nee_ Hastings,” Mrs. Calamy said with a slight smile. “But Mrs. Calamy will simply do here.”

“Victoria, the same name as your Queen?”

“It was fashionable when I was born and made a comeback when she was born too.”

Eponine nodded slowly, trying to take this all in. “I s’pose you asked the embassy that you be the one to show us around England.”

“That was not my doing either. Dr. Maturin needs some assistance owing to his age and physical condition. We have been friends for many years, and he was only too glad to recommend me for the task,” Victoria explained. “When the embassy learned that Mr. and Mrs. Combeferre’s visit would coincide with yours here, it was Mr. Delaroche who requested that I also assist you.”

“I s’pose he doesn’t know then of everything, of what you were really doing in the Mediterranean,” Eponine said accusingly.

Victoria sighed deeply. “After that Magnon was found out, an investigation was conducted here in England. Your friend Feuilly, that envoy now to Poland, gave a deposition that ensured it. There were many other damning papers, but they are of no consequence to you now. But you should know that my husband and myself were under scrutiny for many years after. Mr. Delaroche is very aware of all of this.”

“Does he know where you have been?” the younger woman scoffed. “I am sure I saw you in Calais when we were crossing, which meant somehow you were allowed on French soil.”

“I was running an errand for Dr. Maturin since he is no longer able to make long journeys to the Continent,” Victoria said. “However yes, you saw me in a maid’s attire. I always find it seemly to travel in inconspicuous garb.”

 _‘Which would have worked if not her scar,’_ Eponine admitted silently. “You pretended not to know me when I next saw you here at Claridges. Why are you suddenly telling me all of this?”

“You are a guest of your embassy, and I am supposed to help you,” Victoria replied. “For as long as you are here on English soil, it is good for us to at least be cordial. I do not think that is entirely possible without making a clean breast of what has happened. All the same I do not expect you to forgive me.”

“I still do not trust you.”

“I would call you a fool if you did.”

Eponine could not help but smile at such candor. “Then it’s good that we’ve had this out.”

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Enjolras,” Victoria said as she picked up her bonnet and her shawl. Just as she opened the door to leave, she was met by Claudine, who was about to knock. “Good day, Mrs. Combeferre.”

“Actually, I need to speak with both of you,” Claudine said, holding out a pair of cards. “The concierge sent these up. Citizen Combeferre and I also have one addressed to us as well. Your brother also received one too.”

“These are calling cards. One of those has a note. I will take that,” Victoria said, gesturing to one card covered with neat penmanship on the back. “When visiting it is good to have these, to announce one’s presence and see if one will be received,” she explained.

“And if the person you are visiting isn’t at home?” Eponine asked.

“We leave the card to say we have been there, and are hoping for a return visit,” Victoria replied. She smiled as she read the note. “It’s from Lord Blakeney. Have you heard of him, Mrs. Combeferre? He was a co-discoverer with Dr. Maturin during our voyage to the Galapagos.”

“No, unfortunately,” Claudine said. “Why, he intends to visit?”

“More like he is inviting us, since he and his wife are in town for the Season,” Victoria replied. She sighed when she saw Eponine’s incredulous expression. “When the Parliament is in session, it is also the social season. It’s only extremely important if you are making or arranging a marriage in high society. For married ladies like us, it’s important only as far as helping our husbands along in whatever connections need to be made.”

“Then what happens for the rest of the year?” Eponine asked.

“Most of the peerage retires to estates in the country; those are their homes. They need to oversee the harvests, the wages, and other business. Lord Blakeney lives in one of his family’s estates up near York.”

“What sort of noble is he: a duke, a viscount, or something of that sort?”

“He’s the second son of a marquis, that is why we call him simply Lord Blakeney. If he were the eldest son, he would have inherited his father’s title.”

‘ _The French nobility was probably just as complicated before the Republic did away with all titles,’_ Eponine thought, rubbing her temples. Of course, there were still times that people referred to her friends the Pontmercys as the Baron and Baronne Pontmercy, but that was falling quickly out of fashion. “So this invitation from him, what about it?” she asked.

“He sends his regrets at being unable to properly call on us here at Claridge’s, having not found me at home, but he is inviting us to dine at his townhouse near Golden Square,” Victoria said.

“Who else will be there?”

“Only our party here at Claridge’s, without the diplomats. He has Dr. Maturin with him too, for all of today.”

Before Eponine could say anything, a knock sounded on the door. “Citizenness Enjolras, may I please have a word with you,” Lamarre said from the hallway.

‘ _I have to make do with sending out what letters I can today, and making up for the rest later,’_ Eponine thought as she threw her own shawl around her shoulders before heading out of the room to meet a rather harried diplomat in the corridor. “What is it?” she asked.

Lamarre took a deep breath as he adjusted his morning coat. “I must ask you to accept the invitation given to you ladies.”

“What of work?” Eponine asked.

“Right now, I need to confer with Citizens Delaroche and Reynault as to our next move for the coming days. You might say we are at an impasse,” Lamarre said. He brought out a folded newspaper he had with him. “You however are not.”

The woman took a look at the newspaper, which turned out to be the previous day’s edition of _The Times._ “Why, they report on who’s coming and going to London?”

“Only if they are foreigners of interest, and that is what we are. But that was yesterday. Today, though, you have the opportunity to make useful allies.”

“By dining with a noble?”

“Who is high up in the precedence they have here, being the son of a marquess. A second son, but still of the peerage nonetheless. His wife is in a position to introduce you to other ladies who can help grant an audience with the Queen.” 

‘ _Just like Claudine and me having to talk to so many ladies from everywhere in the early years of our society,’_ Eponine thought, gritting her teeth. “While of course we also do the more official way of going through Prince Albert.”

“Yes, of course,” Lamarre said with a nod. “No update has been given yet to Citizen Delaroche about our request, so we may as well use all channels possible to us.”

‘ _It is probably moldering on a desk,’_ Eponine thought as she excused herself to make ready for this venture. When she returned to her room, she saw Claudine and Victoria still conversing. “What time are we expected there?” she asked.

“Before seven. I think we have the rest of the day at leisure prior to this,” Victoria said more cheerily as she made ready to return to her own chamber. “There is no need for you to worry. Lady Blakeney is an excellent hostess; I have learned much from her. Lord Blakeney is a dear friend to my husband and to me as well. We will be received well there.”

Eponine let Victoria leave first before she grabbed Claudine’s arm. “I was right that Citizenness Calamy was following us,” she said quickly. “It’s her, the very same woman who brought in that Magnon who gave us so much trouble all those years ago.”

Claudine’s jaw dropped. “Are you sure?”

“She’s the one who said so, just before you came in.”

“But why?”

“I am not sure myself,” Eponine confessed. ‘ _Which is why I am asking Gavroche to make inquiries,’_ she thought, thinking of the still unsent letters on her desk.

Claudine was silent for a moment. “She may have good intentions, but we still need to be careful,” she finally said. “And perhaps, warn Citizen Delaroche at the very least.”

“According to Citizenness Calamy, even he knows about it,” Eponine said. “If he does know of everything she and her husband have done, how can he trust them?”

“Who’s to say he trusts them at all? Maybe he prefers to have them within sight, to keep a better watch,” Claudine said. She took a deep breath as she wrung her hands. “What have we gotten ourselves into now?”

“I s’pose something we should enjoy getting out of,” Eponine said. She waited for Claudine to leave before gathering up letters to bring them downstairs to be posted from the concierge’s lodge. From here they would be forwarded into the express mail sent from the French embassy.

As soon as she arrived in the lobby, a man came out from behind the concierge’s desk with a nervous expression. “Mrs. Enjolras, are you permitted to receive journalists?” he asked. “There are so many who wish to schedule an interview with you.”

Eponine burst out laughing when she saw the one dozen calling cards the concierge was trying to hold together. “I s’pose that would have to be cleared with the embassy. I think it would be best to send these up to Mr. Lamarre, so he can have a look at them and then forward them to the ambassador,” she said when she regained her composure.

“If ever will you receive them here in our parlor?”

“I don’t see a problem with it, if the ambassador is fine with me receiving the newspaper men here instead of at the embassy’s official salon.”

The concierge nodded. “You will have all of those letters sent to France?” he asked, indicating the handful of missives Eponine was holding. “That will cost quite a bit in postage.”

“Not so much, if it is just to Paris.”

“Only to Paris? A letter came for you just now, from Aix.”

“Ah, the very one I was waiting for!” Eponine exclaimed. “A good thing the post is quick from those parts!”

The concierge smiled knowingly as he handed over a single letter in exchange for those Eponine had in hand. “Be discreet when you read that, Mrs. Enjolras,” he advised before excusing himself and heading back to his desk.

Eponine quickly hurried back up to her room, where she shut the door behind her and sat on her bed. She carefully worked the seal loose on the envelope, if only to keep from accidentally tearing the note. Even just looking at the steady, smooth handwriting that covered a single side of paper was enough to make her smile widely and feel that much missed warmth course through her body. She closed her eyes and sighed as she recalled the last time she saw her husband and the rest of their family, especially the way that Enjolras had looked at her.‘ _When I next travel, it will be with him. I will make sure of that,’_ she resolved silently, blinking back a hot feeling in her eyes.

“Today is the seventh of April, so which means he and my brother should be in Nimes,” she thought aloud as she finished reading the letter once again. “It may very well that he will have no time to write as they cross the border, so the next one I will get will likely be from Barcelona, but how long will that be from now?”

After a while Eponine went to the window, which had an excellent view of the neighborhood of Mayfield, stretching out eastwards to Hyde Park. “I wonder if when I look this way, you are looking back at me too ,” she whispered. She picked up a sheet of paper and pencil to sketch what she saw before her, until this scene was marred by darkening clouds, and then rain splattering on the windowpane. “So much for that!” she muttered just as she checked her watch, only to find that it was way the past the hour for luncheon. ‘ _Well if dinner is going to be as lavish as what was served to us at the embassy, it’s just as well that I go visiting when I am a little hungry,’_ she decided as she set aside her sketch and lay on her bed.

She did not know when she drifted off to sleep, only that she suddenly awoke to knocking at the door. “Mrs. Enjolras, the carriage is already waiting for us outside!” Victoria called sharply. “Are you well?”

“Yes, now give me _two_ minutes!” Eponine shouted as she sprang to her feet. She quickly threw her closet door open and quickly grabbed one of her blue dresses. This attire, which she had worn for less formal affairs in Paris, had recently undergone a few clever modifications under Musichetta’s skilled hands. The neckline had been modified to show more of the wearer’s shoulders, and the hemming disguised by a ruffle. The sleeves were narrowed and shortened to bare one’s arms. A blue silk overlay was also added to the skirt to give the illusion of volume. ‘ _It might not be the most fashionable thing, but I don’t want to look silly,’_ she told herself as she quickly put up her hair in a twist, then grabbed her gloves before heading out the door and down to the lobby.

Victoria looked up crossly at Eponine as the latter hurried down the stairs. “It isn’t fashionable to arrive late to dinner, especially a private one,” she chided.

“I didn’t intend to do so,” Eponine retorted. Just as she expected, Combeferre and Neville had simply settled for evening attire, while Claudine had accessorized one of her lavender dresses with a silk shawl. Victoria however was dressed more fashionably in a pink gown that was nearly off her shoulders, with a flounced full skirt. “Is this fine enough?”

“It will have to do,” Victoria said with a sniff as they made their way to the door.

The London residence of Lord and Lady Blakeney was only a short carriage ride away, but with the sudden chill wind, Eponine was suddenly glad that they did not elect to walk through the streets of Mayfair. Their party arrived at a townhouse with a porch that was brightly illuminated with gas lights, and had an awning installed to shield guests from sudden rain. ‘ _Now that is one thing we ought to have more of in Paris,’_ Eponine noted as they alighted from the carriage and were shown in and announced by an obsequious footman into the drawing room.

Seated in this small, but luxuriously fitted up space was Dr. Maturin, who was conversing avidly with a couple that were clearly the master and mistress of the house. Lord Blakeney quickly got to his feet and came forward the moment his guests were announced. He was a well-built man with yellow hair shot through with silver, whose blue eyes had an abundance of wrinkles at their corners from a lifetime of laughter. Like his guests he was dressed in evening garb, but with the right sleeve of his coat buttoned across his chest. “Mrs. Calamy, it’s good to see you again,” he greeted Victoria with a bow before bowing to the guests in turn. “And a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Combeferre, Mrs. Combeferre, Mrs. Enjolras, and Master Thenardier.”

“Master Thenardier?” Neville asked confusedly.

“A distinction for one of your age,” Victoria said discreetly to the boy, motioning for him to move away from a pianoforte he was standing dangerously close to. “It’s good of you and Lady Blakeney to invite all of us here,” she said to Lord Blakeney.

“The honor is ours, to have such distinguished guests,” Lord Blakeney said cheerily. “I particularly look forward to attending your presentation,” he said, directing this to the Combeferres. 

Combeferre nodded cordially. “I was not aware you were a member of the Royal Society as well, Lord Blakeney.”

“You might say a lapsed member; it’s been years since I made a good contribution to it,” Lord Blakeney said. “Perhaps my one regret,” he said, directing this to Dr. Maturin.

“I have always maintained it would have done your health better to go on more naturalists’ voyages than stay in blockades,” the elderly physician said, adjusting his position on a long couch. 

“Perhaps it should be part of your next medical text, Dr. Maturin,” Lady Blakeney chimed in. Like her husband she was about past forty years of age, but her blond hair and pallor made her seem more like a wraith bedecked fashionably in an evening gown of purple. She smiled amiably at the newcomers. “How are you all enjoying London so far?”

“It’s very busy, and I now understand why much of Europe flocks to it, your Ladyship,” Claudine replied slowly.

“If you think London is beautiful, then you should take the opportunity to visit the country,” Lady Blakeney remarked. “Our estate is especially fine during grouse season, for the shooting.”

Neville peered intently at Lord Blakeney. “If you do not mind me asking, your Lordship, but whatever happened to your arm?” he asked.

“Neville!” Eponine chided.

Lord Blakeney only laughed as he glanced at his empty coat sleeve. “I got it taken off me when I was a midshipman, after an attack by a privateer on the HMS Surprise. I can see that you yourself have a similar tale?”

Neville grinned as he gestured to his wooden foot. “An accident when I was seven. The amputation was done with some methods that Dr. Maturin taught Dr. Combeferre.”

‘ _Which is the polite version of the story,’_ Eponine thought, suppressing a shudder. Judging by Victoria’s sudden pallor, there was clearly more to Lord Blakeney’s story than he let on. “I have only read of the HMS Surprise in a few accounts I have translated,” she remarked. “Its last captain was Admiral John Aubrey, am I correct?”

“Yes, indeed,” Dr. Maturin said with a wry, far-off look in his eyes. “There has been no other friend like him before or since.”

“Admiral Aubrey and Dr. Maturin sailed together for many years, even before Lord Blakeney as well as my own husband were old enough to be midshipmen,” Victoria explained to the French visitors. “The HMS Surprise is only one of several ships they voyaged in.”

“You also sailed with them,” Lady Blakeney pointed out. “And it is a pity that Admiral Calamy could not possibly join us this evening.”

“I was only involved in two voyages aboard the Surprise,” Victoria said, coloring slightly but the tone of fondness in her voice was unmistakable. “As for the Admiral, he is still in the Mediterranean, doing the right thing to escape the Season.”

“Smart of Peter to do so,” Lord Blakeney said in an undertone even as a manservant made his appearance to announce that dinner was served.

Lady Blakeney got to her feet quickly. “We must make some adjustments, as it will not be fitting to suddenly have Master Thenardier escort his sister Mrs. Enjolras to dinner, or Dr. Combeferre taking in his wife. Since Mrs. Calamy will assist Dr. Maturin of course, my husband will take in Mrs. Combeferre. Dr. Combeferre, you will sit next to Mrs. Enjolras,” she said to the group. “And Master Thenardier, will you do the honors?” she added, directing this to a blushing Neville.

Neville grinned and managed a bow. “It will be an honor, your Ladyship.”

“So dignified!” Lady Blakeney remarked approvingly as the group quickly moved to the dining room.

Much to Eponine’s relief, the Blakeneys’ idea of a formal dinner consisted of fewer, but more filling dishes per course. ‘ _One soup, one fish dish, two meat entrees, and a salad are a better lead up to a good round of desserts and coffee,’_ she thought as they were finishing their meal. She had to hold back a laugh when she turned to see Combeferre at her left side, completely red in the face. “I s’pose this is what becomes of your habit of drinking strictly sugar water or one glass of wine only during our meetings and dinners in Paris,” she quipped.

“With such conversation, I did not notice how much I had,” Combeferre admitted. “I hope this does not bore you?”

“Not at all!” Eponine said. “I’d rather listen to everyone going on about the Royal Society---never mind its name---and the presentations to be made by it instead of gossip, as many of these things often slip to.”

“Shall we remove now to the drawing room and finish our coffee there?” Lady Blakeney offered as she got to her feet. “It is much more conducive there for storytelling.”

‘ _Now it begins!’_ Eponine thought, doing her best to keep a straight face. To her surprise, as they left the dining room, Lady Blakeney suddenly took her arm. “I must thank you for your hospitality, Lady Blakeney,” Eponine managed to say.

“Any friend of Mrs. Calamy and Dr. Maturin is a welcome guest to us,” Lady Blakeney said affably, guiding her to a seat in the drawing room a little away from where Lord Blakeney and Dr. Maturin were showing the rest of the group some exquisite sketches of Galapagos fauna. “Though actually I organized this dinner for your sake, Mrs. Enjolras,” the older woman added. 

“My sake?”

“There are too many gossips and busybodies in Claridge’s for us to discuss how I may best help you while you are here in England.”

It was all that Eponine could do not to throw Victoria a withering look over her shoulder, so instead she looked back again at Lady Blakeney. “One of the attaches, Mr. Lamarre, seems to think you can introduce me to people who can introduce me to the Queen.”

“That is a little mistaken,” Lady Blakeney said. “No one is introduced directly to the Queen; one is _presented_ to Her Majesty.”

Eponine’s brow furrowed. “Presented? Like a gift?”

“A highlight of the Season; a debutante or newlywed woman must be presented before Her Majesty, Prince Albert and the Court before she will be allowed to participate in the court receptions, balls, parties and other events. A debutante who has not been presented will not be eligible for marriage within the peerage and society, and a mother who has not been presented will have difficulty getting her own daughter into events.” Lady Blakeney twisted the end of her sleeve as she regarded Eponine for a moment. “You are a peculiar case!”

“I am French and have been married for nearly nine years now, and have borne three children,” Eponine pointed out. “So, I hardly qualify as a newlywed.”

“But somehow it would be good if you could be received at court,” Lady Blakeney said, still deep in thought. “Did your father serve in the French army?”

“He was around at Waterloo.”

“Oh dear, under Napoleon Bonaparte! What was your father’s profession?”

“An innkeeper,” Eponine said, trying to hide her irritation. “I haven’t spoken to my father in many years, so what does he have to do with it?”

“I am trying to find some reason for the Queen to receive you!” Lady Blakeney said. She was quiet for a moment, as if trying to recall something. “The surname ‘Enjolras’ is from the Loire, I heard. Does your husband’s family have a title?” she asked at length.

“The name is from the Loire, but his branch of the family has been in Aix for generations now. They own a great estate there, one of the largest in that part of Provence. Does that count?” Eponine asked confusedly.

“Not for everyone. What is your husband’s profession?” 

“A lawyer.”

“We could try to get your name on the list, if you can wait for me to nominate you for the next presentation,” Lady Blakeney said. She sighed when she saw Victoria get up to join them. “My dear friend, you have put me in quite a quandary.”

“I would not have come here if I did not think you could help me,” Victoria said.

“I could try to nominate her for presentation, but that is not a guarantee either,” Lady Blakeney explained. “It would involve some scrutiny into her character,” she added more pointedly.

‘ _Which would be the biggest problem, inevitably,’_ Eponine realized. She bit her lip as she looked at Victoria, then at Lady Blakeney. “I s’pose with so many ladies who must become debutantes or wives every year, it is not likely many of them see the Queen after,” she observed.

“Too true,” Victoria said. “I was presented myself, and I never got face to face with any sovereign of England or even its Regent in the years after.”

“And my contact is very middling,” Lady Blakeney concurred. “Since a presentation is out of the question, you’d have to get noticed. Not by the Queen of course, but someone who can recommend your merits to her as a person who is so interesting.”

“There, that was what I was hoping you would suggest,” Victoria said. “Would you know of any events we can possibly attend?”

“You are in luck,” Lady Blakeney said with a smile. “Lord Blakeney and I will be hosting a ball on the nineteenth of this month. It would help you greatly to be around.”

“That nearly two weeks from tonight!” Eponine exclaimed.

“It is more than enough time to prepare,” Victoria said firmly. “And if Ambassador Delaroche plays his cards right over the next few days, you might be able to reach Prince Albert before then without needing this ball at all,” she told Eponine in an undertone.

‘ _I hope so, very much,’_ Eponine thought, already feeling a pit of dread in her stomach. “If I go to the ball, what will I need to do?” she asked Lady Blakeney in a level tone.

“You simply need to be here in your best dress and finest conversation,” Lady Blakeney replied. “And of course be ready to dance, mingle. and answer a good many questions. There is nothing that livens up a party more than hearing of the latest from abroad.”

“I s’pose I should be able to manage,” Eponine said, trying to smile bravely. ‘ _I shall have to write more letters home to Paris then,’_ she thought even as she saw Claudine begin to play at the pianoforte on the other side of the room.


	12. A Lady and Her Reputation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and several others are reasons for this fic's rating to have changed. Trigger warning here for attempted sexual assault and some violence in self defense

**Chapter 12: A Lady and Her Reputation**

_April 8, 1842_

_Claridges, London_

_My dearest Antoine,_

_I am so glad to have finally received your letter posted from Aix; it only arrived at Claridge’s last night. I would suppose that it takes about three to four days from a letter in France to reach us in London, thanks to our trains. But since there are no trains that run so well in Spain, I also suppose it will take much longer for me to get your letters from there._

_Most of our work here so far has been in the high places of London; I have not yet gone into the main city itself, which as I have told you is very crowded. Mayfair, the neighborhood we are in, is like the Marais or Chaillot in Paris. Most of the houses here do not have very large yards; they are in rows and called townhouses but are very sumptuous inside as I will tell you so later. Citizens Reynault and Lamarre have no end of very short meetings---or calls as they are called here---that need translation. It seems as if Englishmen, or at least Londoners, do not linger unless invited expressly to do so to stay for dinner or some party. I hear many greetings here but very little of actual conversation in the way we are used to at home. As for my errand, we are waiting for a schedule to meet the Prince Albert, since he is the way to meet the Queen._

_I cannot sleep so well here in London, perhaps because of the cold or because I am so used to having you with me. It may also be because of what I have confirmed yesterday. One of our guides here in London is not entirely a stranger to us, or at least to the Parisian police records. Citizenness Victoria Calamy nee Hastings is alive and well, still assisting Dr. Maturin who was Combeferre’s former teacher. Somehow she has been engaged by our embassy to assist me specifically. Yes, she is the same woman who paid that scoundrel Olivier Magnon to cause such trouble in Paris. When I think of what he did to so many people and what he almost did to us, I feel so angry! Citizenness Calamy has told me that she was not aware of what he was capable of when she assisted him, and she has said she is sorry for it. I must confess that I cannot, will not trust her. But I cannot make an enemy of her while we are in England, which leaves me in quite a bind. Were it not for this, we might have been friends, which makes me feel sadder now that I’ve had some time to think about it a little._

_Combeferre, Claudine, and Neville are chiefly occupied these days with preparing for their conference. I do not see enough of them, which is only to be expected. We were however all invited to dine last night at the house of Lord and Lady Blakeney; the gentleman is a friend of Dr. Maturin. Much of the talk that night was about science; you would have enjoyed it. Lady Blakeney also invited us to attend a ball this 19 th. It may be a good way to meet more people who can help us, but I cannot imagine how much actual talking can be done in a ballroom. I am praying that before then, we will have had a chance to speak with the Prince, so it will not be as necessary to curry favor from this and that aristocrat. Combeferre and Claudine are taking things as they usually do, while Neville is extremely excited about it as Lady Blakeney has taken quite the liking to him. As for me, I am not sure how I will enjoy it as well without you to dance with. _

_I dearly wish you are well, and that I will hear from you and Jacques very soon. I daresay you might be having more fun than I am, for I am sure that there is no difficulty that can hold you back. In the meantime I am comforted by thinking of you, and hoping that you are thinking of me sometimes._

_All my love,_

_Eponine_

This was only the first of several missives that Eponine sent to Barcelona, hoping each morning to receive a reply. “How long does the mail take from Spain, really? It’s been two weeks since I received any word from them, and that letter was sent from Aix. I already have gotten replies back from there and Paris, but none from Spain,” she asked the ambassador Delaroche on the afternoon of the 19th when the latter met his colleagues and guests at Claridges.

“Under the best of conditions, seven days to a week and that is for a one way trip. So two weeks back and forth,” Delaroche said before coughing to clear his throat. “This is assuming that the letters can be readily forwarded from wherever they are, and not sent prior to another city.”

Eponine bit her lip. “That is still too long. My husband wrote before they went to Nimes. He posted it on the morning of April 4.”

“Nimes? That would mean they would have to go through the Pyrenees or the coastal route to get to Barcelona,” Delaroche remarked. “If he wrote from Portbou or Girona, those smaller towns of Spain, the mail would pass through Barcelona or Madrid first before being forwarded to the post in Perpignan if it is to go through France, or to Bilbao on the northern coast if the mail is directly from Spain to England.”

“With such routes, it’s a wonder any mail gets through at all,” Eponine said, trying now to remember what she had seen on the maps her brothers were so fond of poring over at home. “If I don’t hear from them in a week more, then I will worry.”

“Heaven forbid it come to that, but rest assured you will have all my assistance,” Delaroche said, clearing his throat once more. “As for your scheduling a meeting with Prince Albert, I will be following that up personally while Lamarre and Reynault work on getting you to meet members of the Parliament. In the meantime, you might have a breakthrough with speaking with journalists and attending that ball at Lord and Lady Blakeney’s later. Are you ready for it?”

“As best as I am able.”

“You should enjoy it. I heard that Mrs. Calamy had some fashionable dresses ordered for this evening and our upcoming events.”

“I shall try. Thank you Citizen,” Eponine said, managing a smile before excusing herself. She checked her watch, which read past two in the afternoon. ‘ _The hour that it is now polite to make calls in England,’_ she thought as she headed back to her room first to grab a packet of articles that Musichetta and Nicholine had sent to her, before hurrying downstairs to one of the small parlors to the side of the hotel lobby.

She caught sight of Victoria waiting at the parlor door, tapping one foot while reading a book. “What are you doing here?” Eponine asked the Englishwoman. “I don’t need an interpreter.”

“You need a chaperone,” Victoria said firmly, looking up from her reading.

“Why so? I’m already a married woman, far above the age of majority.”

“That is precisely the problem, Mrs. Enjolras. It would not do to have a married Frenchwoman, especially the wife of an upstanding government official, be seen speaking _alone_ to an English journalist.”

‘ _And how am I to speak freely when she is around?’_ Eponine wondered, but all the same she could see the older woman’s point. She fished in her pocket for one of the calling cards given to her days before. “It’s Mr. Walter Burrell in there now?”

Victoria nodded. “He is one of the more respectable newsmen in London, in the sense that he has yet to be implicated in anything libelous.”

Eponine took a deep breath as Victoria pushed open the door to show them both into a warm room furnished with a long couch and two ornate upholstered armchairs. A small but ornate crystal chandelier provided illumination in addition to the afternoon light streaming through a long window on the far side of this chamber. A lanky man with a long face and a full head of dark hair, dressed in a fully buttoned frock coat, occupied one of the armchairs. His rather tall hat was set on a small end table nearby.

The man got to his feet as the women entered. “Mr. Walter Burrell from _The Morning Post_ , at your service,” he greeted with a bow. “Which of you is Madame Enjolras?”

“That is me, but I think Citizenness Enjolras or even Mrs. Enjolras is better,” Eponine said, extending a hand. She nodded at her companion. “Mrs. Calamy will be joining us. She is working with the French embassy.”

“Of course,” Burrell said with a nod as they took their seats. “Your reputation precedes you, Mrs. Enjolras. I had thought you would be a little older, considering that you have already served as a chairperson of the women’s society in Paris, from its very beginning.”

“I was vice-chairperson after its first election in 1833,” Eponine corrected. “I only became chairperson three years later and then handed it over before 1840.”

“Ah, to take care of your family? You have three children, I understand.”

“It wasn’t for them. We do not think that any man, or woman for that matter, should hold a high office for too long. Besides there were already so many other women willing and able to serve.”

Burrell nodded again as he brought out a small notebook and a pencil. “This is why we need to set the record straight here in England. You and your fellow Frenchwomen are the talk of much of society and even the workingwomen in the middle of London and other cities. You must understand, journalism must deal with the facts even if the story is romantic.”

“Mr. Burrell, I am very used to dealing with journalists in Paris. Some of them are my own friends,” Eponine said, sitting up straight as she opened the packet she had with her and handed it over. “I have with me a collection of articles and writings by some of the society’s members, and by journalists who have written about us. These might be useful for you.”

Burrell nodded and hummed as he went through some of the papers. “Yes, the _Moniteur_ is also known here. I believe we have copies in our files, for reference,” he muttered as he handed back the articles. “I appreciate this, but my objective is to write about you, Mrs. Enjolras.”

‘ _Just like in some society rag,’_ Eponine thought, biting her lip. “What do you wish to ask?”

“I’d like to start from the beginning,” Burrell said, touching the pencil to his chin. “You were born into a family with political leanings, yes?”

“My father was a Bonapartist. My mother wasn’t particularly political.”

Burrell’s eyebrows shot up. “Was he in the army?”

“He was not enlisted,” Eponine said with a shrug. ‘ _Because there’s really no polite way to say what my father was doing at Waterloo,’_ she thought, evading Victoria’s perturbed look.

Burrell nodded slowly. “But did you have a political education at home?”

“What exactly is that supposed to mean, Mr. Burrell?”

“Meaning that you were raised to be Bonapartist? Your father imparted to you and your mother his Bonapartist principles?”

Eponine burst out laughing and shook her head as the image of old Thenardier lecturing his household on the life of Napoleon Bonaparte came to mind. “He told us of the Emperor and what he did, but as to any talk of principles, not at all,” she said once she regained her composure.

“Then, was it your husband who taught you your political principles? Or some other gentleman in your circle?” Burrell asked.

“I first heard of politics from students; one could not help it when going about the Latin Quartier before 1832. My husband was among them, but I didn’t know him yet. And it was not him, or his friends who first got me to read or go to meetings,” Eponine replied. “It was my friends Claudine, Musichetta, and Paulette who first truly encouraged me to start thinking things over, to vote, to help in the political campaign, and eventually to be part of the founding of the society.”

The journalist’s eyes widened with skepticism. “Who are these ladies?”

“You have surely heard of Claudine; she is better known as Mrs. Claudine Combeferre _nee_ Andreas, and she is here with me in London because she will be presenting with my brother and her husband to the Royal Society. Musichetta is now known as Musichetta Joly _nee_ Laurain; her husband is a head doctor now at the Bourbe in Paris, while she runs her own dressmaking business. Paulette Vigny passed on nine years ago in childbirth,” Eponine said, feeling her throat grow tight at the mention of her long-deceased friend. 

“My sympathies for the loss of Miss Vigny,” Burrell said more somberly after a moment. “I take that she was not wed, and her child taken to a foundlings’ home.”

“Her son has a father who is raising him in Paris,” Eponine answered quickly. “My husband stands as his godfather, and I treat the boy as one of my own when he comes to stay with us.”

“Fortunate of him!” Burrell said, looking up from his notes. “Are all the women in your society also so educated?”

“In their own ways, but we have been helping put up schools and giving lessons for our daughters, younger sisters and younger friends.”

“Shouldn’t they have received instruction too from their fathers or husbands?”

“What we give does not take away from what they receive at home, if they get any instruction at all.”

Burrell nodded. “You have three children now, and at the same time you raised your brothers, is that correct?”

“As best as I could.”

“And at a young age, already emancipated from your parents. What happened to them?”

Eponine looked down in an effort to keep her hands from balling up into fists. “My mother took ill and died ten years ago. Even before that, my father had gone his own way, as some men do when faced with difficulty,” she said. “My siblings and I were scattered, and it was only after the revolution that I was able to bring us all under one roof now.”

Burrell twirled his pencil as he regarded her. “And no word, ever, from your Bonapartist father, to ask how his children are faring?”

“I made it clear when I married that I would take charge of my siblings, and that he would never have to concern himself with our welfare. It solved a variety of difficulties,” Eponine replied. “It helped secure my sister, and now she is married to Jean Prouvaire the famous poet. My oldest brother is a detective and has been for the past couple of years. The next youngest is here with us in London, under the Combeferres’ tutelage. The very youngest is travelling now on the continent.”

“Your siblings must be very young indeed.”

“I consider my youngest brother a very old fifteen.”

The journalist chuckled. “A boy who is mature beyond his years then. I should think you and Mr. Enjolras did an excellent job in raising him, exceptional even. And exceptional is the word, for I cannot imagine that raising a family and participating in politics are two easy matters to balance. Now here is my question: do you think that your agitation for women’s participation in civic affairs puts undue pressure on the female sex to step out of the sphere of the home, and even neglect their responsibilities within?”

“I do not s’pose that would be so. Every citizenness now can at least vote when there is an election every few years, and I don’t think that is too difficult,” Eponine said. “Not every woman is required to be part of a political society, or read the news each day, or do anything more than she is ready to do for our country. What is important is that no one is prevented from doing so.”

Burrell nodded and hummed as he continued to write. “I see now why you were called the _Rose of the Radicaux_.”

“And why do you think so, Mr. Burrell?”

“You are not an aristocrat, a market-woman, or one of those Amazonians who excite violence like those of 1789. You are something young and rather different.”

Eponine nodded, managing a small smile. “I thank you for your time, good Sir, if you have no more questions to ask.”

“The honor is mine, Mrs. Enjolras,” Burrell said, getting to his feet and making a bow before donning his hat. “I wish you luck for the rest of your trip here in London.”

“And you too, for your writing, Mr. Burrell,” Eponine said. She waited for the journalist to leave before she looked at Victoria again. “You are right. He is respectable.”

Victoria nodded. “Your answers were very careful.”

‘ _Because I still have people to protect,’_ Eponine thought even as she too stood up. “I imagine you were this way once if anyone ever asked you about your voyages,” she remarked.

Victoria’s eyes darkened. “Those who know are too wise to pry. And those who do not know will never get an answer from me,” she said firmly.

‘ _A true spy, even now,’_ Eponine mused as she quit the parlor and went to the concierge’s desk. “I know I asked this morning, but is there a letter for me?” she asked the man stationed there.

The concierge grinned at her. “You are in luck, Mrs. Enjolras,” he said as he handed her a carefully folded and sealed missive. “It’s come a long way.”

‘ _All the way from Barcelona!’_ Eponine realized, recognizing the notepaper. “Thank you very much, Sir,” she said.

Victoria rushed up to the concierge’s desk. “Has a letter arrived too for me?”

This time the concierge looked down. “Unfortunately, I must disappoint you, Mrs. Calamy.”

Eponine bit her lip as she saw Victoria sigh deeply and turn away to hurry back upstairs. The younger woman sprinted to catch up to her. “If you don’t mind me asking, where is the Admiral stationed at?” she whispered.

Victoria smiled stoically. “Gibraltar. That is on the southeast coast of Spain.”

‘ _Then a reply may take more than seven days from there,’_ Eponine realized. “Does the mail go over land, or may it be brought by sea?” she asked.

“Either way,” Victoria replied. “These delays have happened before. In such cases, when the mail does arrive, it is not only in single letters but rather a whole sheaf of them.”

“I s’pose that would be so if the mail must all come through one place,” Eponine mused aloud, even as she tried to hide her smile at the idea of Enjolras receiving a whole pile of letters. “I am sure that his reply will arrive. Maybe tonight for all we know,” she added.

“That is kind of you, Mrs. Enjolras,” Victoria said before continuing upstairs.

‘ _I cannot imagine how she can live this way, always waiting for her husband’s letters,’_ Eponine thought as she walked up to her own room. ‘ _I myself cannot even do a few weeks away.’_

Once there she locked the door and sat down to read the missive. “They made it to Barcelona, thank goodness,” she whispered as she saw the first lines on the paper. As she read through the rest of Enjolras’ letter, she could feel that slight twinge of longing now well up into a palpable ache deep within her. ‘ _Will my letters have gotten to you by now? And what will you think of my going to a ball without you? What if some rumor about it reaches you before my letters do?’_ she wondered as she stored away this letter with the one he had mailed from Aix. There was never a time in their years together that Enjolras showed any sign of jealousy, but she was all too aware of how fretful he could be if he detected even just a hint of her uneasiness or worries. ‘ _I can never hide them from you, and even if I tried you would sound me out straightaway.’_

This apprehension still weighed on Eponine several hours later as she readied for the Blakeneys’ ball. She gritted her teeth as she opened her closet; competing for limited space with the dresses she had brought were the new gowns that Victoria had ordered. ‘ _Fashionable as they are, none of them suit me,’_ she thought, regretting that she would not be able to wear her favorite dress from Paris, which was a uniquely deep green with hand embroidery and beading all along the skirt. It had been a gift and part of her wedding trousseau so many years ago.

After some moments of contemplation, she settled for a light gown in shimmering silver, devoid of trimmings except for some flounces on the full skirt and along the top of the neckline. “I look half-dressed!” she fumed, seeing how the gown’s neckline bared her shoulders while its sleeves hardly covered her upper arms.

“Some would say that less is more,” Claudine called from outside the room. “Do you need any help?”

Eponine gritted her teeth as she went to let in her friend. “You look much better than I do,” she remarked, seeing how the more bell-shaped silhouette of Claudine’s lavender gown complemented her friend’s fuller figure. “This is a dress to catch one’s death in.”

“Which is why the pelerine is still in fashion,” Claudine said, holding up a small cape that had recently been trimmed with black lace and dark flowers. “Have you brought any of yours?”

“Only this white one matches. I have nothing in black,” Eponine said, going to her closet to bring out the article in question. She frowned as she fastened the short cape over her slender shoulders. “But if I had one in black, I would look like some apparition.”

“It seems to be in vogue nowadays, judging from what I have seen on the promenade at Hyde Park,” Claudine pointed out as she watched Eponine smooth back her hair and pin it into a simple knot before she stepped into a pair of brocade silk slippers. “Don’t forget your gloves.”

“I won’t,” Eponine said as she went to her dresser. She donned a pair of lace gloves, taking care to tug the left one smoothly over her maimed fingers. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t have a longer pair made, and I didn’t want to ask Mrs. Calamy more than she already was willing to give, what with this dress,” she said, noting that Claudine had gloves reaching to her elbows.

“I do not think anyone will notice, and if they do, it will be rude for anyone to point out,” Claudine said reassuringly as they quit the room and headed downstairs.

Just as before, the ambassador had ordered the carriage for their party’s use. “Is Mayfair all we are ever to see of London?” Eponine asked Lamarre discreetly during the ride. Of their group, only Dr. Maturin had declined going to the ball.

“Why, where else do you wish to go, Citizenness?” Lamarre said incredulously. “Surely, you do not mean to go into the main city itself, after what you saw when we arrived here?”

‘ _I’ve lived in worse,’_ Eponine thought, but she bit her lip. “How am I to speak with the Queen or the Prince about how rights will be good for, or at least will not do harm to Englishwomen, if I do not see for myself how they live?” she asked.

Lamarre chuckled as he smoothed down his dress coat. “England is a big country, and of course there are Wales and Scotland to consider. Do you mean to eventually see them too in the limited time we have here?”

“No, but I think that going to say, Cheapside, would be more informative than staying cooped up in Claridges when I am not translating for you and Citizens Reynault and Delaroche,” Eponine replied.

“You have to forgive my sister, she never stays in one place for too long,” Neville quipped, stretching only to nearly rumple his sleeves.

“The old city of London is no place to be, if you want to preserve your health,” Victoria chimed in. The lamplight made the pearls pinned in her hair seem more lustrous, lending some softness to her otherwise severe features. “There have been several outbreaks of cholera, not to mention all kinds of illnesses in the main city throughout the years. That is not even considering the moral effect of such crowding.”

“If we stay out of the East End, I do not see why a visit should be thoroughly prohibited,” Reynault offered. “What about going to Southwark and Westminster?”

Claudine nodded. “For a change. I do not mean to impugn on anyone’s hospitality, bit it will be a few days till we exhaust all what Mayfair has to offer.”

“The abbey at Westminster is remarkable,” Combeferre said, adjusting his cravat. “And some of our itinerary will take us to Southwark, so perhaps Citizeneness Enjolras can be allowed to join us on some days,” he added, looking hopefully at the diplomats.

“Well that all depends on one person,” Lamarre said, looking to Delaroche, who had been silent this entire time. “Will it be permissible?”

“That will depend when we can get an audience to speak with Prince Albert. It can happen any day; I have been making inquiries,” Delaroche replied in his gravelly voice. He smiled more brightly as the carriage came to a stop. “We’ve arrived.”

Eponine felt her breath catch in her throat as she caught sight of the Blakeneys’ residence; the already grand townhouse was utterly transformed with tiny lights flickering all around the entryway and garlands entwining the posts. The Blakeneys stood in the foyer to welcome each and every guest, while further in servants guided the newcomers to the cloakrooms.

Delaroche bowed first to Lord Blakeney. “Thank you for inviting us. It is unfortunate that Dr. Maturin is unable to attend,” he said.

“Yes, he sent his regrets this morning,” Lord Blakeney replied. “However he promised to call on us tomorrow.”

Lady Blakeney’s serene face brightened up on seeing Victoria first, then her companions. “Finally the festivities can begin!” she greeted. She smiled as she looked over her friend’s attire. “I would never have thought of wearing pearls so artfully, as you do.”

“Susan, you forget I’ve _always_ worn my pearls like this,” Victoria said more confidentially.

Lady Blakeney laughed before stepping forward to greet Claudine. “I am so glad you could join us, Mrs. Combeferre. Do you go to balls very often in Paris?”

Claudine only smiled. “Now and then, when I can be spared.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed; you look like you were born to merriment,” Lady Blakeney said before moving closer to Eponine in turn. “You look lovely too, Mrs. Enjolras. Are you well?” she asked more concernedly.

“I’m not used to English balls, or to these kinds of finery,” Eponine admitted, glancing down at her own attire.

Lady Blakeney’s smile softened. “It becomes you,” she said, loud enough for even others in the hall to hear. “Now cheer up! You can leave your cape in the cloakroom. You may get a dance card there to help you keep track of your partners,” she added in a whisper.

Eponine managed a smile before quickly following Victoria and Claudine into a room filled with all kinds of shawls, capes, and other wraps thrown carelessly about. A pair of maids was attempting to put the cloakroom in order by arranging all the clothes on racks. “What did she mean by a dance card?” she asked as she untied her pelerine.

“One of these,” Victoria said, snatching up a small white paper fan that had been resting with several others in a basket. “This is a clever twist on a dance card; normally they are simply printed cards like any other. Here is a list of every dance for this evening, and there is space opposite to write in the names of your partners,” she explained, holding up the fan for her companions to inspect. “Any gentleman may ask for a dance, for as long as he has been introduced prior. We have the right of first refusal, but it must be exercised prudently such as if you have already promised a dance to another.”

Claudine picked up a fan and nodded approvingly. “I would say, Lady Blakeney has excellent taste and ingenuity.”

Eponine picked up a fan, and her jaw dropped as she counted a total of eighteen dances listed there. “And how am I supposed to get to speak with anyone, if I am to dance all evening?”

“You need not dance every dance—there are only so many to allow for a variety of tastes, abilities and preferences!” Victoria said. Her face was serious when she looked at Eponine again. “Lady Blakeney will make sure to introduce you to people---be it before a dance or in some interim. Supper would be a good opportunity too. You have to trust her.”

‘ _I shall try,’_ Eponine thought as she managed a nod before they left the cloakroom. From where she stood, she could see now that the house’s entire first floor had been rearranged such that most of the rooms now interconnected with one another to allow for people to move freely. A band was playing at one end of a large chamber which had clearly been set aside for the dancing. As she stood on tiptoe to try to see better in the fancily dressed crowd milling about, she caught sight of Neville standing despondently near a wall. “Is something the matter?” she asked him.

The boy looked down despondently at his one foot and his wooden leg. “How am I supposed to dance like this? No one will accept if I ask.”

“Dance a slow one, and no one needs to know,” Eponine advised. She showed him her dance card. “There is a waltz or two here that might suit you.”

Neville reddened slightly. “And how will I find a lady willing to dance with me?”

Eponine looked around again and this time caught sight of their hostess now entering the main room. “Come with me,” she muttered as she grabbed Neville’s arm to half-drag him with her. “Lady Blakeney, I have a favor to ask,” she said breathlessly.

“What is it?” the Englishwoman asked.

“My brother, as you know, has a wooden foot. He fears it may pose a difficulty with finding the right partner for the right dance,” Eponine explained.

“As your hostess, I will assist you,” Lady Blakeney said, looping her arm through Neville’s.

‘ _Now that is one difficulty resolved,’_ Eponine thought as she mumbled her thanks. As she stepped back she saw Victoria quickly motioning to her in one of the rooms. “For an introduction, perhaps,” she muttered as she went to join her guide.

Victoria was standing with a man of about past fifty, with chiseled features and a scar on one cheek. “Mrs. Enjolras, I would like to introduce Commodore Pullings. Commodore Pullings, meet Mrs. Enjolras, a visitor from France,” she said.

Commodore Pullings bowed politely to Eponine. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Enjolras. Would you do me the honor of being my partner for the first quadrille of the evening?”

“Yes I will,” Eponine said with a polite nod even as she handed her dance card to the commodore for him to write his name in. “My thanks to you, Commodore Pullings.”

“There, that was not so difficult,” Victoria remarked as the naval officer took his leave to rejoin some of his companions. “Between Lady Blakeney and myself, you will have that dance card filled up in no time.”

“There you both are! Mrs. Enjolras, I have some friends I wish for you to meet,” Lady Blakeney called, breaking away from a rather garrulous clique. She took Eponine’s arm to lead her to a couple standing by a window, then stopped to make a slight curtsy. “Lord Griffiths, Lady Griffiths, may I present Mrs. Enjolras, a renowned French authoress and guest of the embassy. Mrs. Enjolras, meet my husband’s friends Lord and Lady Griffiths,” she said by way of introduction.

“An authoress after the fashion of Mary Shelley, I see?” Lady Griffiths said cordially. She was a petite and rotund woman who made up for her lack of height with several large plumes in her hairstyle. “Do you write novels, Mrs. Enjolras?”

“I am more inclined towards politics and essays, Lady Griffiths,” Eponine replied.

“A Wollestonecraft then,” Lord Griffiths remarked, brushing something off his mustache. Unlike his wife, he was a man seemingly made up all of angles, from his jutting chin to his sinewy limbs. “Are there many other such women in France, Mrs. Enjolras?”

“A good number, writing on politics and a variety of other subjects too,” Eponine said.

Lady Griffiths smiled and nodded. “You must tell me more about them, Mrs. Enjolras. I look forward to seeing you in London for the rest of the season.”

“Thank you, Lady Griffiths, and you as well Lord Griffiths,” Eponine said, attempting a curtsy which she would have toppled from if Lady Blakeney had not discreetly steadied her. “Are they long time friends of Lord Blakeney’s?” she asked as Lady Blakeney took her arm once more.

“Since childhood, before my husband went to sea,” Lady Blakeney explained. “Lord Griffiths is also the son of a nobleman, but Lady Griffiths is bosom friends with the Queen’s current maids of honor,” she added in a whisper.

Eponine’s eyes widened at this. “Thank you, your Ladyship,” she said even as she saw people begin to gather round in the largest room. “Is that for the first dance?”

“Which you promised to Commodore Pullings, now go!” Lady Blakeney said, pointing to Eponine’s dance card.

Eponine quickly ran to the dance floor, where she found Commodore Pullings already in one file of dancers. She readily took her place opposite him in the second file, just in time for the first strains of the quadrille. Much to her delight the Commodore was light on his feet, and able to keep time with the dance’s swift tempo. When the dance ended, she clapped enthusiastically. “You are a wonderful dancer, Commodore Pullings,” she said as they quit the middle of the room.

‘I am only a practiced farm boy and sailor,” Commodore Pullings said, coloring slightly. “And you are?”

“A Frenchwoman,” Eponine replied, taking a seat to the side. “How is it that you and Mrs. Calamy are acquainted?”

“We sailed together a few times. She was the assistant of Dr. Maturin,” Commodore Pullings said with undisguised nostalgia. “He’s rarely had a more capable surgeon’s mate.”

“And her husband was also on board?”

“As a midshipman and eventually lieutenant under Captain, now Admiral Aubrey.”

‘ _There is a story somewhere in that one,’_ Eponine thought as Commodore Pullings went off to find another dance partner. She nodded as Lady Blakeney walked up to her. “Will you dance the next one?” Eponine asked.

“I have the third,” Lady Blakeney said. “You on the other hand did wonderfully. Now let’s make the best of the evening and take a turn around the room.”

Eponine felt a smile tug more easily at her lips as Lady Blakeney introduced her in turn to other peers and peeresses, as well as some merchants, bankers, and other guests in attendance. A few of the gentlemen also filled out her dance card, such that she found herself dancing up until the supper room was opened after the eleventh dance.

“You’re quite the presence on the dance floor tonight,” Delaroche said, raising his glass of wine by way of greeting when he saw her in the brightly lit supper room. “I would say that this ball is a success.”

“I should hope so,” Eponine replied as she grabbed a plate, only to have Delaroche signal for her to put it down. “Why?”

“A gentleman must wait on a lady in these affairs,” Delaroche said as he picked up the plate and motioned for Eponine to take a seat. “You must rest, while I fetch you some comestibles. Is there anything you fancy?”

“I could do with a little cold chicken, thank you,” Eponine said after briefly surveying the fare spread out on a long table decorated with tall floral arrangements interspersed with piles of fruit. As she looked around she caught sight of Neville entering the supper room, escorting a fresh-faced, brunette debutante dressed in an airy gown of white gauze. ‘ _Is he smitten?’_ she wondered as she saw her brother whisper something that had this girl laughing.

“To think I had surmised your brother was the shyster,” Delaroche remarked as he soon returned with a plate of chicken and ham slices, bread, and some squares of cake. He also had a glass of iced juice, which he handed to Eponine. “It is not often I am proven wrong.”

“Neville has always been full of surprises,” Eponine pointed out. ‘ _And it doesn’t help that he learned from Gavroche and Courfeyrac how to be glib, and from Antoine how to treat a lady,’_ she thought even as she began to eat while listening to Delaroche’s pointing out different people in the supper room as they came and went.

At length, Delaroche excused himself to refill his own glass of champagne, and it was at this moment that Lord Griffiths entered the supper room, already with a glass of wine in hand. He looked around for a moment then strode over to where Eponine was seated. Lord Griffiths smiled as he bowed. “Do you already have a partner for the polka, Mrs. Enjolras?” he asked.

Eponine looked through her dance card. “Your Lordship may have the fifteenth dance, the _polka redowa_ ,” she said, pointing to a blank space on the fan.

Lord Griffiths quickly wrote his name on the blank. “How are you acquainted with Lady Blakeney?” he asked.

“It is a recent acquaintance. Her friend Mrs. Hastings introduced us,” Eponine replied.

Lord Griffiths frowned. “Ah the adventuress. Does France have such women as well?”

“That would depend on what you would call an adventuress, Your Lordship,” Eponine said, looking him in the face.

The noble smiled sardonically before he took a sip of his drink. “You are very liberal on the Continent, especially over these past few years. Some would say it is eroding the refinement and gentility that is so characteristic of the French.”

“I wonder who exactly is saying so, since those of us living in France would say it is possible to have both.” Eponine got to her feet and nodded to Lord Griffiths. “I will see you on the dance floor, Your Lordship.”

As Eponine quit the supper room, she glanced back to where her brother was still engrossed in conversation with his lady companion. ‘ _At least he is enjoying himself,’_ she thought as she went to search for her other companions. She found Combeferre and Claudine busy conversing with a group in one room, while a now ruddy-faced Delaroche had pulled Lamarre and Reynault into a lively discussion over some painting. Lady Blakeney and her husband were listening to a debutante who was exhibiting her skills at the piano, while Victoria was in a close discussion with another middle-aged couple.

“I s’pose I shall rest a little bit,” Eponine whispered as she found a seat near the dance floor. It was only now that she had the opportunity to appreciate the artfulness that had gone into improvising this hall from several rooms; to mask any partitions or interruptions in the walls, sheer fabric had been draped all around the sides of the dance hall. ‘ _Something I can suggest to Cosette when she wishes to entertain again at home,’_ she noted even as more couples returned from the supper room while the band resumed its place at one end of the hall.

The twelfth dance for this evening was another quadrille, which Eponine had agreed to dance with another journalist only introduced to her hours before. Even as she tried to focus on the quick and light footwork of this dance, she could not help but notice Lady Griffiths whispering to some of her friends, only to rush off to another friend while wearing a shocked expression. ‘ _Some gossip no doubt,’_ Eponine thought, quickly turning back her attention to her partner. The quadrille ended all too quickly, and soon she found herself back in a seat to rest and watch while other couples took the floor for some Spanish dances.

All of a sudden she saw Lord Griffiths now in front of her. “Is it time for the polka already?” she asked.

“Yes. It is the fifteenth dance, isn’t it?” Lord Griffiths said, looking her over.

Eponine checked her dance card and swallowed hard. “Yes it is,” she said as she stood up. ‘ _I wish I’d thought of a polite way to refuse sooner!’_ she thought, but there was no stepping back now that places were being taken on the floor and all eyes were on her.

Lord Griffiths was clearly practiced with dancing the polka, but his arms were stiff as he led her through the varied figures. “How is it that you wrangled an invitation to this ball?” he asked Eponine in an undertone.

“Lady Blakeney sent me an invitation.”

“Yes, but does she know what exactly you are?”

Eponine felt her blood run cold at this question, more so when she met Lord Griffith’s malicious eyes as the music ended. She tried to take a step back, but his grip was strong on her wrist as he led her back to the side of the room. “Let me go,” she whispered through gritted teeth.

“I should have the servants throw you out before you disgrace my friend’s home,” Lord Griffiths hissed, his breath now hot against her skin. “Better yet I should show you myself what common women like you are good for.”

Eponine slapped his hand away from hers but before she could run, Lord Griffiths lunged for her again, making to grab her by her waist. At that moment she caught sight of a gentleman’s gold-tipped cane lying unattended. She quickly snatched it up and with a smooth motion, brought one end of the cane down on his head. Lord Griffiths fell to the floor even as the band suddenly stopped playing amid the shocked gasps and cries of the onlookers.

“What on earth is going on here?” Lady Blakeney shouted as she ran forward with Lady Griffiths in tow. “And right in my own house?”

Lord Griffiths sat up, holding one hand to his now bloodied forehead. “This _whore_ dared to attack me,” he shouted as he looked at his wife, then at their hostess. “You should never have invited her, Lady Blakeney!”

“He grabbed me first!” Eponine said, pointing at him with the cane.

Lady Griffiths’ jaw dropped. “How dare you accuse a peer of England of such a thing!” she screeched, launching herself at Eponine.

Eponine quickly shoved Lady Griffiths back into a seat. “Good night to you, Lady Blakeney,” she said through gritted teeth before making her way out of the hall. She vaguely heard Victoria calling after her in the crowd, but she ignored this and only quickened her steps till she was in the foyer and out the front door.


	13. The Northern Agenda

**Chapter 13: The Northern Agenda**

_April 13, 1842_

_Barcelona, Spain_

_My friend Jehan,_

_I hope that this letter finds you and your family well and in good health. It would hearten you and Azelma greatly to know that here in Barcelona they have praises for your recent productions at the Odeon. Your treatment in particular of the “Tirant lo Blanch” and its relation to the writer Cervantes was particularly appealing to them._

_I hope you will also be pleased with the inclusion of a few miniature illustrations of the views here in Barcelona, as a gift from Citizen Belmont, our envoy to this country. Of particular interest to you would be the “Barri Gotic” as one of its older neighborhoods is referred to in the Catalan language. The images here will be a clue as to what the name means. Hopefully this will serve as further inspiration for your works, both in verse as well as on stage._

_Please send my warm regards to Azelma and Maximillien._

_Enjolras_

This short missive was one among several that Enjolras penned over the course of the day while D’Aramitz and Jacques recovered from their long journey to Barcelona. “Considering your coterie’s creative proclivities, I am surprised that you yourself have not attempted any artistic work even during your younger years,” Belmont remarked later in the middle of the afternoon as Enjolras was putting the messages into the diplomatic packet sent daily to the capital of France. 

“It is only Citizen Prouvaire who has pursued a career in that direction, and stayed with it,” Enjolras pointed out dryly as he closed the packet and handed it to one of Belmont’s servants, who then quit the patio.

“A pity; I once had aspirations to be a sort of troubadour for this age,” Belmont said. He turned at the sound of footsteps hurrying into the patio. “What is it?” he asked the servant who had just entered.

“A note from _Senyor_ Pasqual. He is inviting you and our guests to dinner,” the servant said, handing an ornately signed letter to the diplomat.

‘ _A man of some rank or age at least,’_ Enjolras realized, noting how this sounded closely like the Spanish honorific ‘senor _’._ “He is a local official then?” he asked Belmont.

“A leader. His sphere of respect covers not only Barcelona, but also Girona, Lleida, and Tarragona,” Belmont explained. He glanced to the patio entrance as Jacques made his appearance, still rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes. “Enjoyed your siesta, Citizen Thenardier? We need you bright and ready for dinner tonight,” he greeted the boy.

Jacques blinked blearily at him. “We will have guests, Citizen Belmont?”

“We are to be the guests this time. Wear one of your evening coats,” Enjolras instructed.

“What, in this heat?”

“Yes. We are not at home.”

Belmont laughed as Jacques grimaced and then went upstairs to change into more suitable attire. “The heat was quite a shock to me when I first came to Spain, but I find that it makes my blood run better than it would in a French winter,” the ambassador remarked. “At least a winter north of Lyon, since the climate in Provence and Toulouse is so like Catalonia.”

‘ _I wonder what Combeferre or Joly would say to that,’_ Enjolras mused before excusing himself in turn to his own chamber. He threw the window open to make the best of the cool afternoon sea breeze blowing through the second floor before he changed into a clean shirt and waistcoat, with a plain black cravat and a dark blue tailcoat to round out this ensemble. ‘ _It would not do to cause alarm just yet,’_ he thought as he saw his long red coat among his belongings.

When he arrived downstairs, Jacques and Belmont were already waiting to leave. Belmont was clad in a similarly understated light grey suit while Jacques had opted for a tailcoat in a lighter shade of blue. “Excellent taste,” Belmont said when he saw Enjolras. “It is a little-known fact, but the Spanish already look to us French….for sartorial matters.”

“They need not to; they only need to exercise rationality in dress,” Enjolras pointed out even as he turned to see D’Aramitz also make an entrance but wearing a funereal black from head to toe. ‘ _Is he suddenly in mourning?’_ he wondered.

Belmont’s eyes widened when he saw his fellow diplomat. “My friend, I know I have said that Spanish fashions are more somber, but that is extreme,” he said.

D’Aramitz did not say anything, but only cast a knowing look at Jacques’ attire. “Where will _Senyor_ Pasqual meet us?” he asked Belmont at length.

“Placa Sant Jaume in the Barri Gotic,” Belmont said. “It is an important site in Barcelona, and thus has recently been given a new look thanks to some roadworks,” he told his guests.

“That is Saint James Square in the Gothic Quarter?” Jacques translated after a moment.

“Very good! You’re a quick study in Catalan!” Belmont said proudly as he picked up his hat.

‘ _Something Eponine would pick up on very readily too,’_ Enjolras could not help thinking. For a moment he imagined her in the middle of a party, readily being the go-between in conversations as she was so wont to do when they were in Paris together. ‘ _For certain, she is enjoying her own trip especially in the company of our friends,’_ he assured himself.

Owing to the heat, the four gentlemen took an open barouche to the old and venerable neighborhood of the Gothic Quartier, as it had already begun to be called in Barcelona. Even without Belmont’s occasional annotations it was clear to Enjolras that they were traveling through a neighborhood in flux; dilapidated Romanesque buildings and older ruins were situated on newly paved streets, while many an grand façade was interrupted by the addition of a new café, shop or some other establishment.

At one point their carriage came to a stop in a narrow road that was nearly blocked by other conveyances. Jacques, who was in one of the rear-facing seats, suddenly looked to his right. “That phaeton!” he exclaimed as he tried to turn in his seat.

“Why, what about it?’ Enjolras asked.

Jacques lowered his head in an effort to hide a blush that had suddenly risen to his cheeks. “Nothing, only something I thought I saw.”

“There was a lady in that carriage, wasn’t there?” Belmont asked. “Raven haired, fine eyes perhaps, most tastefully attired in violet with flowers?”

Jacques covered his face with his hands, which only prompted Belmont to laugh and D’Aramitz to smirk. Enjolras sighed deeply, knowing these signs all too well. “It was only a moment,” he said to Jacques. “A passing one.”

“But she looked at me---” Jacques stammered. “Please don’t tell my sisters or my brothers about this.”

“Not a word,” Enjolras promised as their carriage advanced. After a few moments they were at their destination, which was a brightly lit square in between two grand buildings that were clearly government offices. “What are these?” he asked Belmont.

“The City Hall is one, the second was the home of the _Generalitat_ ,” Belmont said. “The seat of the government of Catalonia before it was abolished in the 1700s.”

‘ _Fitting then that we should be met here,’_ Enjolras thought as they alighted from the carriage and made their way to a café located in one corner of this plaza. The lamps cast a weak glow on a signboard outside this establishment, which read “Tres Homs Bons”, the meaning of which was not lost even on Enjolras’ untrained eye. Since it was relatively early for supper, the place was not yet crowded. A server, who’d clearly been given some instructions earlier, conducted the Frenchmen to a small alcove towards the back.

“Much like our cafes in Paris,” Jacques remarked as they took their seats at a table that had been set for six. “Why all the formality?”

“It is much like Paris, yet not so,” Belmont said. He looked to the café entrance and suddenly got to his feet. “Good evening, _Senyor_ Pasqual, _Senyorita_ Pasqual,” he said by way of greeting.

Enjolras turned to see an olive-skinned gentleman of relatively short stature entering the place, but judging by the way people bowed, nodded or made way for him he was held in high esteem by the neighborhood. He too was dressed in a sober gray suit, but it was cut in such a way that his stocky frame seemed more powerful in motion. On his arm was a young girl with rich raven hair that fell in ringlets around her face, which was made merry by deep set eyes and a complexion that needed no rouge to enliven it. ‘ _Clearly, Jacques has seen her before,’_ he thought, seeing how his brother-in-law’s ears reddened as he began an intense scrutiny of the tablecloth.

The man named Pasqual grinned before pulling Belmont into a hug. “It is good to see you, _Senyor_ Belmont. Pardon me for the short notice,” he said in a loud voice. “And you too, _Senyor_ D’Aramitz,” he added more dryly as he caught sight of the other diplomat.

D’Aramitz merely nodded stiffly. “It is good to see that you and your daughter are well _Senyor_ Pasqual.”

“ _Senyor_ Pasqual, I have the pleasure of introducing _Senyor_ Enjolras and his assistant _Senyorito_ Jacques Thenardier. They have come all the way here from Paris,” Belmont said, bringing his guests forward. “Friends, meet _Senyor_ Andreu Ferran Pasqual y’ Costa , one of the leading citizens of Barcelona.”

“The pleasure is mine. _Senyor_ Enjolras, I have read some of your writings on the Parisian justice system, and of course the Constitution you helped draft,” Pasqual said as he shook Enjolras’ hand. “Accompanying me is my daughter Maria Jacinta Lucia Pasqual y’ Vivas.”

The girl smiled as she made a slight nod. “Pleased to meet you,” she said. She looked for a moment at Jacques. “Oh no, do you have a fever?”

Jacques looked up quickly. “No, it’s only warm outside, _senyorita_ ,” he mumbled as they all took their seats while Pasqual called for a server to help order their dinner. 

Enjolras gave Jacques a warning look, all the while aware of Belmont and Aramitz both trying to keep straight faces. ‘ _The last time I saw someone look that besotted was when Pontmercy first took actual notice of then Citizenness Fauchelevent,’_ he thought. ‘ _Perhaps it will be the fancy of only a single evening.’_

“We will be having an _escudella_ , which is a stew served in three courses,” Pasqual said proudly. “What other peoples may simply throw into a pot to serve to all, we take the care to lay out and present most appealingly.”

“A specialty here in Catalonia,” D’Aramitz explained in an undertone.

“And an excellent introduction to the region,” Belmont said. He looked keenly at Pasqual. “I have just come up from Madrid.”

Pasqual’s brow furrowed. “What news?”

“Espartero has his sights trained here.”

“He should mind his business which is military and stay out of matters of commerce.”

Enjolras’ eyebrows shot up at the mention of this regent. “What exactly does General Espartero want?”

“It is said that he wants the _Cortes,_ that is our parliament, to open up free trade between Spain and England,” Pasqual said with unmitigated disgust. “That tide of money will benefit the coffers of Madrid but will leave the provinces in the dust.”

Belmont sighed deeply and rubbed his temples. “And what will become of Barcelona, or Catalonia for that matter, if foment here should continue?”

The Spaniard’s eyes darkened for a moment, but his expression softened as the servers brought in a tureen of a thick broth with a rich aroma. “The _escudella’s_ first course is always the broth. The meat and vegetables will follow,” he said, directing this in particular to Jacques. He paused to make a show of ladling a generous helping into his daughter’s bowl. “Of course, one is at liberty to combine them in the same dish.”

“It is neater to do otherwise however,” Maria Jacinta chimed in daintily.

Enjolras waited till everyone was served before he took his share of the piping hot _escudella_ broth. ‘ _Less like a cassoulet, more like a Parisian meat stew,’_ he decided silently. Somehow, if he closed his eyes, he could almost believe that he was back at 9 Rue Guisarde. He shook his head to clear away this notion even as he listened to Pasqual’s lengthy narrative of a recent trip he had taken to the more distant parts of Catalonia. Belmont and D’Aramitz listened eagerly while enjoying their Spanish wine, while Jacques seemed content with picking at his food and asking Maria Jacinta question after question or making sure she got the best vegetables and slices of meat when these parts of the _escudella_ were brought to the table.

“ _Senyor_ Enjolras, my friend _Senyor_ Belmont tells me here that free trade is very much a feature of the French economy, and the republic does trade freely with its neighbors, England included,” Pasqual said at length as he stirred what remained of the _escudella_ broth in the pot. His Spanish was enunciated with a distinct accent and stress that betrayed his Catalan origins. “But what about the economies of its principalities?”

“We no longer abide by the demarcations of those old principalities; these were abandoned in 1789 and never fully restored even under the Duc D’Orleans. The Republic now has provinces and departments, and those have their political representatives. The economy on the other hand is the concern of every French citizen, who is given the opportunity to advance and contribute according to ability,” Enjolras pointed out. “What agreements the State has with other States is directed towards this goal.”

Pasqual nodded slowly. “And there is no fear of royalist ideas corrupting your Republic?”

‘ _When the fear in some countries is that it will go the other way around,’_ Enjolras thought, trying not to smirk. “We have advanced several decades beyond that specter.”

Pasqual finished his glass of wine. “I find it ironic that Espartero means to keep Spain under his thumb, while allowing the infiltration of English goods and even English ideas. This and his authoritarian policies will eventually erode what progress he has made with his rule.” 

“What you would need then is a leader like Lafayette,” D’Aramitz chimed in.

‘ _A far too moderate choice for some, and a bit too much for others,’_ Enjolras could not help but think as he saw Pasqual look down. “Considering the varied roles and offices that Lafayette played in his life, which one are you pertaining to?” he asked.

“Lafayette as one who was able to prevent bloodshed while allowing for a new Charter. He worked well with those who made the Charter, ratified it, and allowed for the first real elections to take place in many years,” D’Aramitz said, sounding more impassioned than ever before. “Citizen Enjolras, you were there, you worked with him. Would you think it was one of his finer hours?”

“He did what he felt was necessary in 1832, as he always had done,” Enjolras answered. “When it was no longer a question of victory, he turned to maintaining the goodwill of the people.”

Pasqual shook his head. “That is to say, moderate. You would have had a Republic earlier if he had not raised up the Duc d’Orleans in 1830.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth even as he saw before him again the memory of seeing the revered general Lafayette with the now exiled Louis-Philippe on the steps of the Hotel de Ville. “And you are afraid that Espartero will be influenced by other ideas, which will make him renege on his and the _Cortes’_ progress towards the welfare of Catalonia and other provinces?” he asked in a level tone.

Pasqual nodded. “As it is, matters are precarious. Espartero needs to protect us but with moderation. If he displeases the _Cortes_ , he will be deposed in favor of the future Queen Isabella or her former regent Maria Cristina. And we cannot have that in the provinces either.”

“France cannot be expected to intervene in this matter, even there is a longstanding kinship between Catalonia and the south of France,” Belmont cut in. “If that is what you wish, _Senyor_ Pasqual, I must remind you that we have had this discussion before.”

Pasqual smiled bitterly at him. “I do not know why I even appealed to you, _Senyor_ Belmont.” He set some bills and coins on the table, and then nodded to his daughter. “We will go now.”

“But Father---” Maria Jacinta began in Catalan before Pasqual gave her a stern look. The girl sighed and made a curtsy. “My apologies, _Senyors_ ,” she said in barely accented Spanish before leaving on her father’s arm.

Once Pasqual was out of earshot, Belmont sighed deeply. “I would say that only young Citizen Thenardier has had a success this evening.”

“I should hope to see her again,” Jacques said bravely. “How is that possible?”

“It is likely we will all meet again in short order. Pasqual will come around. He knows that he cannot agitate strongly to correct the government in Madrid, lest he bring down its wrath upon Catalonia and its inhabitants.”

“Espartero is a military man; he will not hesitate to use force if contradicted,” D’Aramitz said. “Is there no way then to moderate our friend Pasqual?”

“Not with the strength of his conviction,” Belmont said. “I only hope that the delegates from Navarre and the Basque region are more temperate.”

‘ _Highly unlikely,’_ Enjolras thought, remembering now the information passed to him in Aix. As they exited the café, he noticed a phaeton that had been previously parked behind theirs now suddenly drive off at full speed. ‘ _That one does not belong to the Pasquals,’_ he observed, noting how even Belmont shook his head at this quick but unusual occurrence.

“Pasqual is an honorable man, but I cannot say the same for all who work with him,” Belmont said in an undertone as they drove back to his home. “And I wouldn’t put it past the Basques especially to already have spies here.”

“Have they asked for a specific date for a meeting?” D’Aramitz asked.

“I am still waiting for a communication from any of their administrators,” Belmont replied. For the rest of the carriage ride, the ambassador was silent, thus leaving his guests with little else to do but to retire to their respective rooms for the night.

The following dawn saw Enjolras already up and about, having been accustomed to waking at around this hour. Owing to the heat he elected to stay in his shirtsleeves, and do away with his cravat. As quietly as he could he headed downstairs to the patio, where he had a splendid view of the sea shimmering in the morning sunlight as waves gently broke onto the beach. ‘ _Not even a camera obscura can capture this one perfectly,’_ he noted as he tried to commit this sight to memory.

As he walked the length of the patio he caught sight of a rough stick such that one would use for trekking along the beach. Enjolras picked up this cane and twirled it to test its weight. The cane made a satisfying ‘swoosh’ through the air, thus prompting him to take a step back into a stance for _canne de combat._ He advanced, swiftly moving the cane in a circle around his head, then in front of him as if fending off an opponent. Even though he and his friends sparred less frequently owing to their different responsibilities, the forms and movements still came very readily to him.

“You would be formidable in a fight, Citizen Enjolras,” a voice said in Occitan. Enjolras turned to see Pasqual at the entrance to the patio, dressed as if for a visit. “I am sorry if I was intruding; I sometimes visit for breakfast.”

Enjolras set down the cane. “You are fluent in Occitan. I did not think it was spoken in these parts as well.”

“It isn’t, but I do it out of being a good neighbor,” Pasqual said congenially. “I am also sorry if last night ended on a bad note. Your ambassador Citizen Belmont is a good man even if we naturally differ on many things.”

“I believe he will not hold it against you,” Enjolras concurred. “I understand that breakfast is not your only object in coming here.”

Pasqual chuckled as he walked to the railing and leaned on it. “You and I have a great deal in common. We are both patriots of our respective countries, but I cannot abandon Catalonia no more than you can remove the Midi from your heart,” he said. “Surely you must understand why the autonomy of Catalonia is important, from your experience.”

“I cannot draw an appropriate comparison between the two,” Enjolras pointed out. “From what I understand, Catalonia was a proud kingdom before its autonomy was verily cancelled by an act of a single king.”

“That is correct.”

“It is not the same as what happened to the Midi: a large area of kingdoms and provinces that were only united at first by language before the divisions were broken down utterly by the Revolution, then the empire under Buonaparte, and the Bourbon restoration.”

Pasqual nodded ruefully. “I see your point. And yet as a young man you agitated for the autonomy of the Midi? Did Paris turn your head that much?”

“I may have started in Provence, but I am a citizen of France first and foremost,” Enjolras said, looking at Pasqual directly.

“Yet one who still speaks his _patois,”_ Pasqual said with a grin. “Tell me, Citizen Enjolras, does young Citizen Thenardier also know Occitan?”

“He is fluent.”

“And why is that so?”

“We speak both Occitan and French in our household,” Enjolras said.

“But he would not have learned Occitan in school. I have read on the French system of education, and I know that most youngsters in the south of France do not pick up this language in formal instruction but only at home.” Pasqual’s expression was grim. “The same is true of Catalan, which the government at Madrid suppresses by forbidding it as a medium of instruction or downgrading its use as an official language.”

‘ _There was a penalty at times for speaking Occitan in boarding school,’_ Enjolras recalled. “And what is it that you wish with regard to France and Catalonia?”

“Scholarship,” Pasqual replied. “France has excellent universities that are open to all who wish to learn about the world. Is there room for the tongue and ways of our people, so that they may not be consigned to antiquity and then oblivion?”

“To become a living language and avoid the fate of Latin,” Enjolras concurred, earning a knowing chuckle from Pasqual. “It is a worthy idea. Does Citizen Belmont know about this?”

“I am only telling you because you are a son of Provence; what does a fool from Lyon know?” Pasqual scoffed.

“And I am merely a visiting lawyer and consultant. He is in a better position to move on your behalf and advocate this,” Enjolras pointed out. “Especially if it will be a question of having academics from Barcelona conduct scholarly work within our French universities.”

Pasqual was silent for a few moments before he nodded. “I will wait for him to be in a better humor.”

“And that he is!’ Belmont greeted from inside the house. “I know you are attracted to my breakfast table, _Senyor_ Pasqual, but this is early!” he added as he emerged also in his shirtsleeves.

Pasqual bowed by way of greeting. “Every hour is a good one to make amends.”

Enjolras nodded by way of acknowledgement before stepping back into the house in order to give his two companions the opportunity to converse. Before he could think of heading upstairs to wake up Jacques and D’Aramitz, he saw a servant hurrying in from the front door. “Is something the matter?” he asked, trying to speak in Catalan.

The servant shook his head and thrust an envelope in Enjolras’ face. “A letter for you, _Senyor_ ,” he said before rushing off.

Enjolras took one look at the handwriting on the envelope before he quickly tore it open. ‘ _The post was quick from England this time,’_ he thought as he noted the date on Eponine’s letter. As he read through this missive he felt anticipation, then growing dread when he read through Eponine’s revelation of her guide’s identity. ‘ _How is it that the Embassy did not know about this?’_ he wondered with growing apprehension. He read through to the end, hoping that Eponine would elucidate this matter, but all he found were her further worries about the upcoming ball.

At that moment Enjolras felt his gut lurch as he envisioned his wife dressed in the latest of Parisian fashions, dancing a quadrille with any number of smartly dressed Englishmen. ‘ _This distance just only complicates matters,’_ he thought as he quickly folded the letter and put it in his waistcoat pocket, and then headed upstairs to compose his reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical note: Espartero was a prominent figure during this period known as the Carlist Wars in Spanish history. It's quite convoluted. 
> 
> On a personal note thank you to Mikhail_Garcia for many insights needed to write this chapter.


	14. The Troubles of Youth

**Chapter 14: The Troubles of Youth**

_April 14, 1842_

_Barcelona, Spain_

_Eponine,_

_I was very pleased to receive a whole day earlier than expected your letter dated April 8. So far it seems as if our messages have not met any of the usual accidents so common with sending mail over a great distance. We both can only hope for such reliable and regular timing of the post throughout the remainder of this venture._

_The matter of your guide in England is deeply troubling; you are right to exercise caution in her presence. It would not be untoward to raise this question to the Embassy at London, or even to our friends at home—that is if you have not already done so by the time you read this. As to the question of her remorse, I believe it is possible, and such a change of mind and motive would bode well for your work and your safety. It would be a surprise though if you both ended up being on more than cordial terms with each other._

_I doubt you will read this in time for the ball on the 19th, but all the same I am sure that you will do far more than impress. I believe that people will see you for what you are: a woman of courage and strength, of unparalleled character, and worthy of the highest respect and esteem. It is far more enduring than any ornament or fashion that may be recommended to you for this occasion._

_You deserve to hear this all face to face, and if I were in England or you here in Barcelona I would not hesitate with making this known to you. I would make it clear that no gossip or wayward rumor can diminish the particular regard and affection I have for you. As it is, this letter will have to suffice for the time being. I look forward to addressing the balance in our own particular fashion, when we rendezvous in either Paris or Aix._

_Once again please send my regards to your brother, as well as to Combeferre and Claudine. I have written to them already to extend my best wishes for their presentation this month, but a repetition would not be amiss. Jacques sends his warm regards, and he will write at his own leisure. I will eagerly await your next letter with high hope that it finds us here in Barcelona instead of at Zaragoza._

_Yours always,_

_Antoine_

In the days after penning and sending out this letter, Enjolras found his time taken up with accompanying Belmont and D’Aramitz to meetings with Pasqual and other inhabitants of Barcelona, as well as some visiting delegates from Navarre during the last week of April. “Smugglers, the lot of them,” Belmont said with disgust after the latter guests had already departed from his house. “Yes, they resort to smuggling because of the collapse of their historical cross-Pyrenees trade, but doing so endangers the liberty of their province.”

“That is so, but what is being done on our side of the border?” Enjolras asked dryly.

Belmont shrugged. “It is already almost the end of April, and no word from the Basques. We may have no choice but to either forego seeing them altogether or hope they will send someone to meet us in Zaragoza.” He glanced towards the patio. “In the meantime, you need to do something about that situation out there.”

Enjolras glanced to where Jacques was sitting on the patio rail, plucking most discordantly at a Spanish guitar while Maria Jacinta watched with a bemused smile as her hands toyed with a fan. “May I have a word with you, Jacques?” Enjolras asked.

Jacques glanced down at the musical instrument and then at Maria Jacinta, who had quickly averted her eyes the moment Enjolras spoke. “Now?”

“It will not be long,” Enjolras said. He nodded to the girl. “Excuse us for a moment, _senyorita_ Pasqual,” he said before firmly grabbing Jacques by the shoulder of his coat and leading him inside the house.

Jacques set down the guitar on the floor before he could accidentally lose his grip on it. “I was being perfectly proper, and decorous,” he stammered. “Her father has allowed for her to be here for as long as you, or Citizens Belmont and D’Aramitz are on the premises, as chaperones.”

‘ _Chaperoning being too liberal a term,’_ Enjolras thought, gritting his teeth. “It is good that you know the bounds of propriety,” he said as he looked at the red-faced boy. “However, you have neglected your work. You asked to come along on this trip to assist, and not merely make a Grand Tour of Europe.”

Jacques stood up straight too look Enjolras in the eye; at fifteen he had only a few inches left to meet his brother-in-law’s height. “I’ve gone to every meeting you asked me to, helped with your correspondence and taken notes.”

“Meetings you were only physically present for, and correspondence and notes that I have had to redo,” Enjolras pointed out sternly. He took a deep breath when he saw Jacques hang his head with disappointment. “You have a myriad of opportunities to improve. I strongly suggest you make the best use of them.”

Jacques nodded. “Now may I go back to Maria?”

Enjolras crossed his arms. “Does her father know you refer to her so familiarly?”

The boy’s cheeks reddened further. “We are friends. There isn’t wrong with talking to friends, or even writing to them after we are gone from here.”

“Have you her father’s approval to write to her?” Enjolras asked coolly. He sighed when he saw Jacques’ already flushed cheeks darken to almost beet red. “That is part of propriety.”

“Would you permit me to write to her?” Jacques asked. “I could not bear it if I should have her out of my life forever once we leave Barcelona. She’s so unlike any of the girls at home; she’s already a lady. She already has suitors and she has spurned every one of them. I have hope, I do!”

“She has suitors and you intend to add to their number?”

“If she will have me.”

“And at fifteen, what will you do for her?” Enjolras retorted. “Remember that under French law, you are still not yet of the age of majority, and thus you are hardly in a position to make any serious offer to her.”

“I will not make an offer to her now; I will wait till I am older and already set up and on my feet,” Jacques replied. “I know you think I am too young, but weren’t my sisters only a few years older when they were married too?”

“Eponine was eighteen and already with her own income while caring for you and your brothers. Azelma only wed Jehan when she was eighteen, and he made sure he could support them both before she took it upon herself to also assist with his work,” Enjolras pointed out. “I doubt you can draw a proper comparison with the situation then, and what is transpiring now.”

“So you would not want me to write to her?”

“I would advise you to lay the matter aside and focus on the work you have at hand. There is much we have to do.”

Jacques shook his head and clenched his fists. “You have no right to tell me so. You aren’t even my father!”

“I may not be your father, but your sister is your guardian,” Enjolras said, fixing the impetuous boy with a look that had him going pale. “If I hear of any foolishness such as the word ‘elope’ and your names in the same sentence, I will not hesitate to send you back to Aix and inform Eponine of the fact.” 

“You wouldn’t!”

“I do not advise that you test me on this.”

Jacques stared at Enjolras for a moment before stomping out towards the patio, all the while loudly complaining to Maria Jacinta. By this time, Belmont and D’Aramitz were already in the foyer and listening in with looks of equal concern and shock. “Youth. He will grow out of it,” Belmont pronounced after a moment.

‘ _I should hope so,’_ Enjolras thought as he cast a concerned glance at where Jacques was now weeping with his head on Jacinta’s lap. “I believe I should call on _Senyor_ Pasqual today, before he comes to fetch his daughter,” he said in an undertone to Belmont.

“That would be wise,” Belmont said, nodding hurriedly. “His house is also in La Barceloneta; I can send someone to take you in the phaeton.”

“Thank you very much, but I can drive just as well,” Enjolras replied as he went to get his coat, a clean cravat, and his hat. ‘ _It would not do to attract undue attention of the other residents here,’_ he decided as he followed Belmont out to the carriage gate.

The Pasqual’s residence was smaller compared to Belmont’s lodgings, but unlike the relatively new ambassador’s residence, Pasqual’s home had larger grounds with a very well-kept garden and small arbor. At this moment, Pasqual was crouched in the dirt, tending to a row of herbs. “Good day, Citizen Enjolras,” Pasqual hailed him in Occitan. “Is something the matter?”

“It is more of I may have amends to make,” Enjolras said as he allowed one of Pasqual’s valets to take charge of the small carriage. “I have noticed that my brother-in-law has been spending a great deal of time with your daughter. I apologize on his behalf if he has been in any way less than decorous to her,” he explained as Pasqual let him into the garden.

Pasqual only burst into hearty, booming laughter. “Why apologize for a young man’s infatuation? You would know that it is a perfectly natural thing!”

“Unfortunately, Jacques has a rather different view on the matter.” Enjolras took a deep breath when he saw Pasqual frown. “He means to write to her.”

“Write, as in keep up a correspondence? To what intent?”

“The most serious intent a young man can have towards a woman.”

Pasqual shook his head vehemently. “I would not encourage it.”

“Indeed, I figured it would be so,” Enjolras said calmly. “I have also told him my advice on this matter.”

“Not because I think him ungentlemanly or unworthy. In most cases, I would encourage such an attachment to one such as him, but these are not usual circumstances,” Pasqual said with a rueful look. “My daughter however is already of marriageable age. An attachment, no matter how innocent, would hurt her prospects for a respectable husband. Surely you understand since you have a daughter as well, as I have heard from Citizen Belmont.”

The mention of Laure had Enjolras smiling wryly. “I should hope that when she is fourteen, she would consider other prospects besides marriage,” he remarked.

“What, a nunnery?” Pasqual asked. “I sometimes have thought it would be best for Jacinta to take the veil; everything she would inherit would then pass to the convent’s holdings as a dowry of sorts. But as you can see she is not inclined to make any sort of vows, and so I must worry.”

Before Enjolras could say anything to this, he noticed a man now standing in the doorway of Pasqual’s house. “I think you have a guest, Citizen Pasqual.”

“Yes, one who I intended to introduce to you and Citizen Belmont this evening,” Pasqual said, switching now to Spanish as he motioned for this stranger to join them in the yard. “ _Senyor_ Enjolras, I would like you to meet _Senyor_ Luix Arriola y’ Salazar, who has just arrived from Bilbao. _Senyor_ Arriola, meet _Senyor_ Enjolras, who is a guest of the French ambassador.”

“ _Senyor_ Enjolras is known to many Basques especially in France,” Arriola said, making a slight bow. He was a brawny, well-tanned figure with brown hair that had lightened somewhat from travel under the sun. He spoke Spanish, but with a rather different accent that made it seem nearly as nasal as French. “You and I have a few common connections such as _Senyora_ Feuilly, or _Senyorita_ Torres as she was known to us in her youth.”

‘ _And quite possibly also the late Citizen Gaz,’_ Enjolras noted as he nodded to this newcomer. “ _Senyor_ Belmont is already informed you are in town?”

“Before you arrived, I had just sent one of my messengers with a note,” Pasqual replied. “And we can meet when I fetch my daughter personally from there,” he added in an undertone directed to Enjolras.

“It is providential that you came here earlier, so we can speak more freely,” Arriola said as he took a seat near one of the brick paths that meandered through the garden. He gave Enjolras a long look, akin to that of a burglar calculating the possibility of scaling a high wall. “The Basque cause is not new to you. Surely you understand the drive behind it, and its importance to the region.”

“I am acquainted with the sentiments towards the unification of the entire Basque region, including the French Basques, as a separate entity,” Enjolras answered. 

“One which is not approved of in Paris,” Arriola said sourly. “I had thought that you, among the chief architects of the French Constitution, would be sympathetic.”

“What gave you that impression?”

“When you were still living in Aix, you were among the members of the Courgourde who advocated for more autonomy of the Midi from the Bourbons. Has Paris turned your head so?”

“That was at a different time; at the height of that agitation the Bourbons were in power and had consolidated their rule from Paris. The need of that decade was very different from the needs after 1830,” Enjolras replied. ‘ _I was hardly nineteen then, fresh out of boarding school and with little idea of the world,’_ he recalled.

Arriola sniffed. “And you believe the Republic in its present form is any better?”

“As far as the welfare of the different departments in France, yes. There is enough autonomy granted for governance of everyday affairs, but the national system must hold for questions of education, health and other matters of equity. As for the issue of Basque reunification, it is a different matter entirely and would require answering the question if the French Basques want to be considered under a separate state,” the younger man said.

Arriola nodded slowly. “As I expected you would respond, but it is good to know that you are not blind to the situation.” 

“There is another matter I would like to discuss,” Enjolras said, looking keenly at Arriola. “What does the name of Adrien Gaz mean to you?”

Arriola’s eyes widened for a moment before his brow furrowed. “What is it to you?”

“He was an old comrade of mine, who I lost contact with some ten years ago,” Enjolras said more congenially. “I heard that he met an unfortunate end.”

The Basque’s face darkened further as he looked towards where Pasqual was still tending to his herbs. “It was murder.”

“As has been speculated.”

“Not speculated, known.”

“When Gaz was killed, another man was also found dead. The official news story says it was a shootout between the two, but there is reason to suspect otherwise,” Enjolras continued, still not averting his eyes. “You yourself insist that it was murder.”

Arriola’s jaw dropped for a moment before he quickly regained his composure. “I know it was murder because we took every safeguard to keep him alive.”

“Interesting. You knew someone was after him?” Enjolras asked.

Arriola gave him an exasperated look. “We sent him as far away from the Basque country as possible; perhaps he thought that Aix was a safe refuge, but he was overtaken there by the agent after him. I believe that he might have been betrayed by someone right in your hometown.”

‘ _A possibility that cannot be ruled out,’_ Enjolras concurred silently. “And what made him of such interest that earned him the ire of an agent from Madrid?” 

Arriola raised his chin haughtily. “Frenchman as he was, he saw as clearly as any Spanish Basque the treachery of Espartero and his government in Madrid. It was this that we tried to save Gaz from since after all he is a French citizen. Surely you can see that?” 

Enjolras nodded. “I commend you for doing what you could to preserve his life.”

“No man of honor could stand by and allow the treachery of Madrid to remain unchecked. Gaz was a man of honor, and willing to do what was necessary to push back. At the very least his killer also lies dead.”

“It would have been better if he had been captured to face justice; first in Aix for his being there under false documentation, then in Spain.”

“Justice! Can any justice be had with a regime that answers a negotiation by sending troops into our province?” Arriola laughed hollowly. “I would say that dying in Aix was merciful; had that agent fallen into our hands, we would have had to act as executioners.”

“To answer a life for a life?”

“It would have been a necessity.”

‘ _An abused word even now,’_ Enjolras thought. Suddenly he saw before him the redoubt at the Rue de Chanvrerie, and Claquesous’ miserable and wailing form at his feet. ‘ _An execution I could have let aside, but for the murder he had committed. That blood is on my hands too, for I could have prevented Claquesous’ killing that innocent porter,’_ he realized even as he tasted a bitterness in the back of his throat.

“There, now we can go to _Senyor_ Belmont and his nightly feast!” Pasqual declared as he walked up to his guests. “Is everything well? _Senyor_ Enjolras, you have gone pale,” he said, looking from one man to the other.

“It is nothing to be concerned about,” Enjolras said mildly. “I shall go ahead in the phaeton.”

“You should have brought the barouche, and saved us the trouble,” Pasqual quipped. “I jest; I will go with you in the phaeton you brought since I need to speak to my daughter. _Senyor_ Arriola, this will give you time to prepare, and you may follow in my own carriage.”

Arriola looked quizzically from Enjolras to Pasqual. “Since when did the Ambassador Belmont have everyone lodging with him?”

“When everyone staying there is French,” Pasqual said before motioning for his servants to bring out the carriages. “I must thank you for your initiative on Citizen Thenardier’s behalf,” he said once he and Enjolras were in the borrowed phaeton and already on the way to the diplomat’s residence. “Fortunately, both he and my daughter are sensible young people, so any unpleasant scene should be readily avoided.”

“That is greatly to be hoped,” Enjolras said, remembering Jacques’ fury earlier that day. ‘ _Perhaps, even if he will be obstinate, Pasqual’s talk with his daughter should help lend clarity.’_

When the two men arrived at Belmont’s home, they could hear raised voices even from the front patio. “What, that is Belmont getting into a row with your brother-in-law!” Pasqual exclaimed.

Enjolras gritted his teeth as he walked past Pasqual and into the house. He paused as he saw Belmont crouching down to speak to Jacques, who was curled up on the floor and weeping loudly. Maria Jacinta stood nearby, looking impassive if not for her suddenly pink color. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked.

Jacques gulped and choked as he looked up and saw Enjolras. “Leave me alone! Haven’t you interfered in my life enough?” he shouted as he got to his feet.

“What do you mean?” Enjolras asked, but the only response he got was Jacques holding back another sob before turning away and running upstairs.

Pasqual cringed as the sound of a door slamming rang through the house. “What is going on, Jacinta?” he asked his daughter, who had not moved from her spot.

Maria Jacinta looked down. “I’m sorry, Papa. And you too, _Senyor_ Enjolras.”

“Deal with her,” Belmont instructed Pasqual. The diplomat sighed and waited for Pasqual to pull Maria Jacinta aside before motioning for Enjolras to go to the back patio. “I am not quite sure how to explain this,” Belmont said to Enjolras in French.

“If it is unpleasant, I think it is best to be direct,” Enjolras said.

“It would appear that another man occupies young _Senyorita_ Pasqual’s affections,” Belmont said, clearly fighting to keep a straight face.

“That would not be a surprise.”

“My friend, that man is _you_.”

For a moment Enjolras stared at Belmont in disbelief. “I can assure you that this is not amusing in the least,” he finally said.

“Well it may be a girlish fancy,” Belmont said with a shrug.

“One I have never encouraged,” Enjolras pointed out furiously. “She knows that Jacques is my brother-in-law, doesn’t she?”

Belmont only shrugged again. “She did at least do the grace of being direct with him.”

“And to such superb effect,” Enjolras deadpanned. He glanced down at the plain gold band he had worn on his left ring finger for close to nine years now, wondering how such a sight could not have at least excited comment. “Did Jacques say anything untoward?” he asked.

“Only what would be expected from violent emotion,” Belmont said. “No harm done.”

‘ _Eponine would know best how to deal with Jacques in a mood like this,’_ Enjolras could not help but think. He glanced back to where Pasqual was shaking his head as Maria Jacinta was evidently trying to explain herself. The father’s brow was knitted with dismay while the daughter was growing redder and redder in the face. “I would not like to be in his place at this moment,” Enjolras said.

“What, dealing with his daughter or with _Senyor_ Arriola?” Belmont said, gesturing to a message in his pocket. “The latter is known to be one of the most incendiary Basque characters. But I think after the events of this afternoon, I would almost be glad to talk with him about the provinces versus the Regent and the _Cortes!”_


	15. From High to Higher

**Chapter 15: From High to Higher**

Although the day after a ball was usually given over to rest and recuperation, Eponine still found herself awake just after dawn. ‘ _If only to get the chill out of my hands,’_ she thought as she went to the fireplace to stir up the embers there. She caught sight of the silver gown she had worn the night before and had discarded onto a chair. “That’s one dress I never want to wear again!” she whispered as she quickly thrust the garment into the recesses of her closet.

After a few minutes of watching the early morning sun casting its rays through the windows and onto the carpet, Eponine washed her face and then threw on a simple puce dress. After tying back her hair with a ribbon, she headed downstairs to the cozy restaurant at Claridge’s. Here, the smell of freshly delivered bread mingled with the more subtle aromas of tea filled the air and chased away the last vestiges of sleep from Eponine’s mind. “Good morning. Would it be possible to please have a cup of coffee to bring back to my room?” she asked a girl there who was setting out the tableware in preparation for breakfast.

“Yes, if you can wait a few minutes. We also have tea here, the best black tea. It would put some color back in your face, Mrs. Enjolras.” the maid said.

“I think coffee will do just fine,” Eponine replied.

The maid nodded skeptically. “And next time you can use the bell in your room if you want anything brought up there.”

“I needed the exercise, thank you,” Eponine said. ‘ _I can probably move more quietly than most of the maids here, and it won’t do to have everyone know I am up and about,’_ she mused as she watched the maids tending to the fires while porters brought in the stocks of wine and other goods for the day’s menu. Suddenly she saw someone from the concierge’s desk hurry up to her, with a note in hand. “What is this?” she asked.

“Express post. From Barcelona?” the assistant, a nervous looking fellow, asked as he put the note on the table.

Eponine felt her heart pound in her chest as she worked the letter open. As she read through Enjolras’ message, she felt hot tears spring to her eyes. ‘ _Why couldn’t I have read this yesterday before that ball?’_ she wondered, once more cursing the matter of the distance between them. She closed her eyes to try to envision him seated at a beach, intently penning the words she now held in hand. ‘ _You always look so well in the morning light, Antoine,’_ she thought, now feeling much warmer in a way she dearly missed.

After a few minutes the server returned with a piping hot cup of coffee, which Eponine gingerly brought back upstairs. As quietly as she could, she set the cup on the desk and locked the door. “I should tell him everything, even if for everyone else I must try to be brave a little,” she resolved as she penned these words:

_April 20, 1842_

_Claridge’s, London_

_My dearest Antoine,_

_I got your letter only today, which is earlier than what I had expected—yet still a little too late as you had predicted on the 14 th of this month. The mail is all out of order, and I suspect you might be inundated by the other letters I have sent following the 8th. The ball was last night, and I wish I had read what you sent me before that party. I would have felt it. You would have known it would comfort me so. _

_The ball went as well as you would expect, meaning it was a disaster. I dined, I danced well, but I wish that Lady Blakeney had introduced me to more polite persons than a certain Lord so and so who thought he could shame me in front of the whole party for being “common”—his word not mine! He tried to grab me, but I gave him quite a blow on the head such that I am sure that I will not be invited back there again to Lady Blakeney’s._

_I know you do not think any less of me. I am assured of that and can feel it so. But these people here in this high society are not you._

_Now I would not want you to go to me in England; you would find it more disagreeable than I already do. I imagine you are having a far easier time in Barcelona, so I would wish myself to be there with you if I could. We’ve always travelled well together through France, so it would be easy to imagine how it would be when we meet again. Do you remember when we went to Reims on a short trip some years ago? I am not sure why I am thinking of it now, but maybe it is because of the spring and the way the light falls, the way I remember it did on your hair when we were given a tour of the vineyards. You were to speak at the center of town, I wanted to see where the kings of old were crowned. You laughed, I led you through the garden, and your hands on my waist were so sure. When you kissed me, it was finer than any champagne or other wine._

_As for other news: Neville seems to have the best of it and has made some good acquaintances here. Combeferre and Claudine are well. From the letters I have gotten from Paris and Aix, everyone is doing fine too. Please give Jacques my regards; he hasn’t been very punctual with writing to me, and even Gavroche sends me more mail._

_This letter will likely reach you in Zaragoza. I will be so glad if you can tell me more about it when you arrive._

_With all my love,_

_Eponine_

By the time she had finished writing, she had gotten through most of the cup of coffee. “There that’s much better,” Eponine told herself as she set out this letter to dry and then found more paper so she could begin a missive to be sent to Aix.

In the middle of her writing she heard a gentle knock on the door. “It’s just me. Can I come in?” Claudine asked from outside.

Eponine quickly unlocked the door and motioned for Claudine to come in. The older Frenchwoman was in a white morning dress with a long shawl to cover her shoulders. “About last night—” Eponine began as she closed the door.

“You don’t need to apologize. The ones who ought to be sorry are those who gossiped in the ballroom once you left, even if Combeferre and I tried to clear things up,” Claudine said. Her face was stricken with concern as she chafed Eponine’s hands. “You’re still so cold. How did you get back here to Claridge’s?”

“I walked. It wasn’t very far off.”

“Without your pelerine or any wrap? You could have caught your death!”

“I’ve had colder nights in Paris, with worse to wear,” Eponine pointed out as she sat on her bed. “But what did all those people have to say once I was out?”

“Do you want the awful or the not so awful ones?” Claudine asked as she also took a seat.

“I s’pose you can give me the first so we can get it over and done with.”

“Well that you were trying to rob Lord Griffiths or tempt him right under his wife’s nose with your dancing.”

Eponine shut her eyes for a moment, picturing again Lady Griffiths’ indignant face. “I did not even waltz with him, and I do not see how I could possibly do anything with the polka,” she said as she looked at Claudine again. “What about the others?”

“That Lord Griffiths should have kept his hands to himself, at least at the ball. Which if you ask me is only a half-step towards improvement,” Claudine said with disgust even as a knock sounded on the door. “Francois, is that you?”

“Yes, may I come in if you ladies are decent?” Combeferre asked. “Neville is here too.”

‘ _Just as well,’_ Eponine thought as Claudine stood up to let the gentlemen in. Despite the cold, both Combeferre and Neville were in their shirtsleeves and trousers. “Is something the matter?” she asked.

“Combeferre was saying I should not challenge Lord Griffiths to a duel,” Neville said indignantly as he glanced at the physician.

Eponine’s jaw dropped. “What gave you such a silly idea?”

“Well isn’t a gentleman supposed to defend a lady’s honor?” Neville asked, putting his hands akimbo. “I can’t do sabers because of my leg, but I can do pistols.”

“I don’t need defending, as you can see. Besides you’re likely to get shot for it, and then where would we all be?” Eponine retorted. “But did you at least enjoy the ball before that awful thing with Lord Griffiths happened?”

Neville managed a smile. “I liked the dancing, and I made a few friends too. I invited them to watch the presentations.”

“Good for you. Could you please ask the restaurant to get us some tea or coffee? Your sister still looks pale from last night,” Combeferre instructed. He waited for the boy to leave and his footsteps to fade before speaking again. “Will you be telling Enjolras about this?” he asked Eponine. 

“Only him,” Eponine said, indicating the letter she had set out to dry on her desk. “It’s just for him to know, but I don’t expect him to come here to England or ask me to go back to France.”

“Because of that sense of duty of his,” Combeferre said with some exasperation as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps I should also—”

Eponine shook her head. “He will hear it from me, and I’m the one with the best right to tell it. And I don’t want people to say that I was chased out of England by something which I know didn’t happen the way they say it did.”

“That is true,” Claudine said. “Francois and I didn’t see exactly what happened, but is it true you used a _cane_ on Lord Griffiths?”

Eponine nodded. “If I had on my boots instead of those silly slippers, I wouldn’t have had to use a stick.”

“Well some use has come of your asking Enjolras to teach you _canne de combat_ and some _savate_ ,” Combeferre said before turning at the sound of arguing in the hallway. “Sounds like Delaroche woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“If he even slept at all,” Claudine murmured. “Are you ready to deal with them right now?” she asked Eponine.

“The sooner so I can get back to writing my letters,” Eponine said as she stood up to open the door. She paused at the sight of a red-faced Lamarre glaring at an equally apoplectic Delaroche. Both men were in their shirtsleeves, and also appeared ready to come to blows. Reynault stood by, looking as if he was at his wits end with his companions. “What a rumpus you are all making out here!” she remarked in an undertone as she stepped into the hall.

Delaroche looked sharply at her and crossed his arms. “A rumpus? You’re one to talk, Citizenness!” he hissed. “Have you any idea how much trouble I had to go through last night to repair your reputation?”

“Repair it from what, the gossip those sillies have been spreading?” Eponine asked.

“You struck an English Lord!” Delaroche retorted. “You are lucky that no one is pressing any charges for striking a high-ranking son of the peerage!”

“And if it comes to that, as I have been telling you all morning, you can say that she did it out of self-defense,” Lamarre argued. “If there was anyone who was out of line, it was Lord Griffiths.”

“Who was drunk,” Reynault pointed out. “Men will be men.”

Eponine’s jaw dropped. “And that is supposed to excuse his threatening to drag me off to some corner or leave me at the mercy of Lady Blakeney’s servants?”

“It was only a threat, I do not think he would have done it,” Reynault said.

“He already had a hand on my wrist, and he was trying to get me by my waist! How is that only a threat?”

“It would have done you better to just scream instead of hitting him.”

“That would not have worked,” a clear voice chimed in. Everyone turned to see Victoria also in the hall, clutching her bonnet and her shawl. With her were Neville and a maidservant carrying a full tea service. “Let’s discuss this inside,” she added, directing this specifically at Delaroche.

Delaroche groaned before motioning for everyone to follow him into Eponine’s room. He waited for the maid to set down the tea and leave before he cleared his throat. “What exactly do you mean by it not working?” he asked the Englishwoman, who was nonchalantly setting down her shawl and her satin bonnet.

“A scream would have been laughed off as an overreaction or even just hysteria,” Victoria said calmly, but the frostiness in her tone was clear as she leveled a look at Delaroche. “Mrs. Enjolras was very justified in what she did.”

“Yes, by destroying any chance of being accepted into your vaunted London high society?” Delaroche asked acidly.

“I assure you that putting Lord Griffiths in his place was the best outcome. What do you think would have happened if he had his way with her?” Victoria smirked as the ambassador blanched while Lamarre and Reynault both turned green. “ _That_ would destroy also her mission and possibly yours as well.”

“Thank you,” Eponine said to Victoria. “But did you see what happened?”

“No, but I know enough to guess,” Victoria replied. She brought out a newspaper she’d concealed in the folds of her skirt. “At the very least you have this recommendation, among others.”

“Which is titled “A Rose from Paris” by Walter Burrell Esquire,” Claudine read aloud as she held up the paper. “It isn’t a bad piece, Eponine. It does justice to the facts.”

“I also brought back your pelerine,” Victoria said, bringing out Eponine’s cape, which she had folded into a tiny square and also concealed in her skirt. “I went over to the Blakeneys to get it, and have a word with Susan, I mean Lady Blakeney.”

“And what did she say?” Neville asked, looking up from where he’d been pretending to read.

“She is siding with her husband Lord Blakeney, who has sided of course with Lord Griffiths,” Victoria replied grimly as she shook her head. “I had thought she would be more sensible.”

“It isn’t surprising at all. Peers protect their own,” Lamarre said bitterly. “What does this mean then for our endeavors?”

“We can no longer count on help from Society, of course,” Victoria said. “The only way left for Mrs. Enjolras is an official audience with Prince Albert first. As for other matters, well I know you gentlemen already have that in hand.”

‘ _Going the proper way was what I wanted in the first place,’_ Eponine thought reproachfully as she now picked up the newspaper that Victoria had brought. She smiled wryly at the article before her; although the post was limpid compared to what she was used to reading in Paris, it at least was free of unjust embellishments and conjectures. “I s’pose it might be best if I keep my head low for a few more days?” she asked.

Delaroche nodded. “At least till it blows over, or they find something new to talk about. Well no matter, there is a lot of work we have such as documents and briefers to be prepared for Reynault’s meeting with the traders in the first week of May.”

“And without an itinerary of balls and parties, you are now free to join us,” Claudine said to Eponine. “We have time to visit other parts of London. You’ll get to see Westminster!”

“I never thought I’d see you recommend an abbey for sightseeing,” Combeferre quipped.

“I am a connoisseur of beauty, as you are,” Claudine said, feigning a prim and proper air.

By this time Delaroche had already perused the newspaper article. “At least the past few days have not been a total waste then. I shall ask at Buckingham Palace if there is any hope for our audience with the Prince,” he said as he nodded to the group. “Good day to you.”

Victoria waited for the three diplomats to leave before she let out a deep sigh. “I shall have to write to Peter, meaning my husband, about this break between us and our friends. Who would have thought----” she broke off before shaking her head and looking at her hands in her lap.

Eponine swallowed hard at this sight. “Mrs. Calamy, I am sorry it came to this. You didn’t have to intervene on my behalf if it would cause you so much trouble.” 

“I know how it is to be in distress and with no recourse other than to defend myself, and to be scorned by one’s companions,” Victoria said as she raised her head. “Lady Blakeney does not know this, but her husband does.”

“You mean on a voyage…” Eponine began.

“I was nineteen. At one point some of us, including myself, had been taken prisoner by a privateer captain that had tricked us.” Victoria’s voice was taut, but her eyes were clear as she looked at Eponine again. “It was the only time I slew someone with my own hand, but of course what is one to believe of a woman who was as you would say _hors d’combat_ aboard a ship? If my husband had not proposed marriage at the end of that voyage, I would have been in disgrace.”

“Hopefully your husband the Admiral can at least explain to Lord Blakeney why you have taken this stance,” Claudine said more hopefully.

“I highly doubt it. Old shipmates as we all are, it is nothing compared to the ties of one’s birth. I do not believe anyone can truly betray their class.” Victoria donned her shawl and her bonnet before nodding to Eponine. “I will be at my house in Piccadilly for today. Do rest well; you look like you need it,” she said before leaving the room.

“There, even she’s said it,” Combeferre told Eponine. “I will make sure that letter for Enjolras will get posted right now, but you must defer your letter writing for Paris to some other day or at least a few more hours. In the meantime, rest.”

‘ _Can’t argue with him again about following doctor’s orders,’_ Eponine thought as she got up to fold and seal the letter she’d finished. “I shall _try_ ,” she said as she handed the letter to her friends.

“Eponine, are you sure that you don’t need someone to duel for you?” Neville asked.

“Absolutely not!” Eponine said before Combeferre and Claudine ushered the boy out of the room. She saw the still warm tea sitting on a table, then sat down to pour herself a cup. ‘ _Not the coffee at the Musain but this will have to do,’_ she decided.

Despite the promise of freedom from cumbersome social obligations, Eponine found herself quite unable to leave the premises of Claridge’s for the next two days, owing to the sheer volume of paperwork given to her by both Reynault and Lamarre. “This is deliberate. They are hiding me away,” she complained to Claudine and Victoria when they stopped by her room. “Why don’t they just send me back to France on the next ship from Dover?”

“Now be careful what you wish for, Eponine,” Claudine warned. “I’ve already insisted to our hosts that we be given tomorrow as a day of liberty.”

“Tomorrow, meaning just a week before your big presentation to the Royal Society?” Victoria asked incredulously. “Is that wise?”

“Yes, because we need the time to clear our heads and rid Combeferre and Neville of their nerves,” Claudine replied. “You are also free tomorrow; Dr. Maturin said so to me and Combeferre.”

“Because he is going to visit the Aubreys, and I will not intrude,” Victoria explained blasely. “What did you have planned for tomorrow?”

“Westminster. Then some shopping too,” Claudine said. “Unless you would suggest something else?”

“If you ask me, Westminster is the best and perhaps the only place I’d show to visitors here in London,” Victoria noted. “We should go out to the country, even if just for a day or two especially since we are not having anything of the Season anymore.”

“Maybe after our meeting with Prince Albert,” Eponine muttered as she sat back at her desk. “I’m starting to think there will not be any, ever.”

“If that possibility was thoroughly negated, we would know by now. It is more likely that owing to the many appointments of the Prince and even the Queen herself, that no feasible time can be agreed upon,” Victoria pointed out. “Then again patience isn’t your strong suit.”

Eponine gave the Englishwoman a withering look. “Only when I am sure the delay is deliberate,” she retorted.

“Eponine, please,” Claudine said, rubbing her temples. “This is exactly why we need to unwind and get away from here for a while. Could you try to do that for me?”

Eponine sighed as she looked at her friend. Somehow it seemed to her that Claudine had grown more strained and drawn in the past few days especially after the ball. ‘ _She’s working too hard and misses home too,’_ she realized. “Yes, I s’pose I should,” she said with a nod.

“Thank you. I think it would be best we start early tomorrow so we can be back here in Mayfair before late in the evening,” Claudine said more brightly. “Good luck with your work today.”

“And you too,” Eponine said. As soon as she was alone again she walked away from her desk and sat at the window, now finding herself unable to focus intently on work. The day was mild, perfect for many of Mayfair’s residents to promenade and preen under the sun. ‘ _Many of those swells want to get in here, but oh how do I want to get out!’_ she could not help thinking as she wrung her hands. She squinted as she looked past the streets and to the horizon; from her vantage point she could see as far as a pair of church towers to the southeast, in the general direction of the Thames. “Maybe that’s where we’re headed tomorrow,” she whispered, managing a smile.

The next morning found Eponine, Combeferre, Claudine, Neville, and Victoria in a borrowed closed carriage bound for the district of Westminster. “We may find ourselves back there eventually; Parliament also meets in Westminster too,” Victoria said as they travelled. “Dr. Maturin unfortunately considers the location of the Houses of Parliament as rather unhealthy.”

“Unhealthy meaning by the Thames,” Combeferre noted. “One would say the same of some of our institutions in Paris.”

“Why, it’s a good walk from the Hotel de Ville to the Seine, so it doesn’t quite compare. I s’pose you are referring to the Palais de Justice, which really needs to be torn down and built from the ground up,” Eponine said.

“That is one thing about Paris that hasn’t changed, and I am surprised that it would be the case,” Victoria observed. “What are your barristers waiting for?”

“For some older swells to retire. They’re the only ones who want the place to remain so,” Eponine quipped, earning a few chuckles from Claudine and Combeferre.

Neville stretched so as to prop up his wooden leg. “It can’t be older than Notre Dame.”

“Which is well kept by contrast,” Claudine chimed in. She peered out the window as the carriage rolled past a large bridge. “There is Westminster Abbey now.”

Eponine leaned over to get a glimpse of this famed church, whose towers she had glimpsed the day before. “It looks more like the cathedral at Reims, and a little less like Notre Dame,” she remarked under her breath as she looked up at the extremely ornate façade with its arched stained glass windows on the west entrance, and multiple spires marking the transepts on the north and south sides.

“ _Nothing_ compares to this Royal Peculiar, subject only to the sovereign,” Victoria said haughtily as the carriage came to a stop. “You will see once we get inside.”

‘ _A church with no parish?’_ Eponine wondered as their entire group disembarked from the coach. “But it is an abbey, so there must be monks?” she asked.

“There were, once. Now the place is run by a Dean and his Chapter,” Victoria answered over her shoulder. “Hurry, we have some time to take a look before the next service.”

Eponine untied her bonnet so that her head was covered only by a thin lace cap as their group entered the west entrance to the nave. The stained-glass windows let in the morning light magnificently, bathing both the ceiling and the floor in vivid colors. Claudine clutched Combeferre’s arm and Neville’s jaw dropped with awe as they looked up at the elaborately vaulted ceilings of the abbey. “It must have taken years to build all those arches,” Eponine said. 

Victoria nodded. “Several kings in fact. And other monarchs are buried here, as you will see when we move around. Please watch your step.”

“This is also where Chaucer was buried?” Claudine asked enthusiastically.

Victoria gestured to the abbey’s south transept. “Alongside other poets and other literary persons of note. But he will always have the distinction of having gotten there first.”

As they walked further into the nave, the travelers had a clearer view of the high altar, and the golden screen beyond it leading into the choir. “Are all Anglican churches like this?” Neville asked, looking to the spacious area behind the altar.

“Certainly not. The space is for coronations; almost every English monarch was crowned here. The Coronation Chair is installed here for such occasions,” Victoria explained. “I read somewhere that once, your French kings were crowned at Reims.”

“With Louis-Philippe being among the notable exceptions; he did not need that consecration but was sworn in by the July Revolution,” Combeferre said.

Victoria rolled her eyes. “It is still said in some quarters here that he had no business being on the throne and he should have stepped aside in favor of the Bourbons. But that would have been the worse thing.”

Eponine glanced at Claudine, who was discreetly signaling for her to keep silent. “I’m not going to argue with her in a church!” Eponine whispered to her friend. Yet even so, there was no banishing the sense of unease she felt just from seeing the theater-like space between the high altar and the choir. She quickly averted her eyes from this as she followed her companions to the famed Poets Corner on the south transept, and then further to the east side of the church.

“Here is what I believe to be the most beautiful part of the Abbey,” Victoria whispered as they stepped past a partition in the rear of the choir. “This is what is called the Lady Chapel.”

“Who built it?” Neville asked.

“Henry the Seventh, but he did not live to see its completion,” Victoria said, stepping aside to let her guests pass. “It is better seen than explained.” 

Eponine felt her breath catch as she found herself standing in a large chamber lined with the tombs of various monarchs on either side. As grand as these burials were, they paled in comparison to the intricacy of the stained-glass window on the easternmost side of the church, and the fan-like vaults of the ceiling high above them. “I have never seen anything like this,” she whispered.

Victoria smiled widely. “It is unparalleled by anything in Christendom. Though of course I once heard a traveler tell me otherwise about the Hagia Sophia and other churches there.”

“Wouldn’t you ever want to put that to the test?” Eponine asked bemusedly.

“Mrs. Enjolras, why would I go so far to Istanbul just to test that?” Victoria asked. She suddenly turned at the sound of a door slamming from elsewhere in the abbey. “We’d better leave before the service starts.”

As they stepped outside, the group caught sight of a landau, emblazoned with the French embassy’s insignias, rushing up to the abbey entrance. “What news?” Eponine asked the harried-looking coachman in French.

“Citizen Delaroche has sent word from Buckingham Palace,” the coachman said, handing her a letter. “You are invited to a reception with Prince Albert next week.”

“What!” Eponine exclaimed in disbelief as she tore open the letter, only to find Delaroche’s spidery penmanship outlining words to this effect. “And the Queen?”

“No word if she will also be there,” the coachman said.

Eponine looked more carefully at the letter. “What does Citizen Delaroche mean by ‘full court dress’?” she asked.

Victoria paled at these words. “That is very specific and we _have_ to prepare. We need to go back to Mayfair immediately.”

Eponine bit her lip. ‘ _I was hoping to do shopping of a different sort,’_ she thought even as she saw Claudine and Combeferre having a discussion in hushed tones. “I s’pose I will see you later then,” she told them ruefully.

“I will go with you. Francois and Neville will go up to the print shops in Clerkenwell,” Claudine said decisively. “Anyway, there are some things I’d like to get for presents to our friends.”

“Is there anything you’d like to get from Clerkenwell?” Combeferre asked.

“I told Cosette that I’d get some books for the children she cares for in her shelter at the Rue de l’Ouest. But I s’pose I should get them myself when I am sure I have the money for it,” Eponine said, gesturing to her small purse. ‘ _I’ve already had people pay for too many things of mine throughout this trip,’_ she decided silently.

Claudine and Combeferre exchanged knowing looks before the latter nodded to the coachman of the landau. “Our errand is one of leisure, so you should rest with us. The ladies will take the closed carriage,” he said.

The coachman nearly collapsed with relief. “Thank you, Citizen! We should be on our way once we’ve watered the poor horses a bit.”

In the meantime, Victoria signaled to the driver of the closed carriage. “If we leave now, we will be able to get in a rush order with a seamstress I know,” she said quickly to Eponine and Claudine. “We can arrange for all of this in Mayfair.”

“A seamstress?” Eponine sputtered as they boarded the carriage. “You’ve already ordered some dresses for me, and I have some of my own too. Won’t they do?”

Victoria shook her head exasperatedly. “Not for this. Full court dress is what is worn when one is presented to the Queen. This is unusual since it is the Prince who has asked for you, so you will most likely be escorted by the ambassador. In any case one does not usually go to these functions in a usual evening dress.”

“How much different is it from an evening dress?” Eponine asked.

Victoria mimed holding up a gown’s long train over her left arm. “This first. You must wear a dress with a train at least three yards long from your shoulders. You will also need long white gloves, as well as three large white feathers and a white veil for your hair.”

Claudine’s eyes went wide at this list. “A week is not enough time to get all of that!”

“A train can be detached from the dress. We only need to get one of your newer dresses and modify it a little,” Victoria explained. “The rest of the accessories can be found at the milliner’s.”

The thought of enduring another series of fittings had Eponine rubbing her temples. “Three yards! Don’t ladies trip with a train that long?”

“It happens, so before being presented at court, one must practice walking with something like a tablecloth pinned to one’s dress,” Victoria said dismissively. “I did so before I was presented at the age of sixteen.”

‘ _I will never understand this country,’_ Eponine thought despairingly as the carriage made its way quickly back to Claridge’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken some liberties with etiquette and what is needed to go to Court. After all these are unusual circumstances


	16. The Prince from Saxe-Coburg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken great liberties with the conduct of English levees. Much of history is silent as to the Prince Consort's views on feminism, but in his own way he was progressive for his day. Just on other issues!

**Chapter 16: The Prince from Saxe-Coburg**

The morning of April 30, 1842 saw Eponine stealing away for a few minutes into her room, if only to get away from the flurry of activity that had enveloped the second floor of Claridge’s. ‘ _With Citizenness Calamy and Citizen Delaroche arguing, while Combeferre, Claudine, and Neville are packing up all the glass and charts for their presentation, I should expect the concierge to be up here soon to ask a thing or two,’_ she thought as she sat down to read a missive newly arrive from Paris.

_April 26, 1842_

_6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire, Paris_

_Dear Eponine,_

_How have you been? I pray that all is going nicely for you there in England. I was so happy to receive your letter a few days ago. I would have written sooner but with cleaning things out for spring here, I have only had a little room to breathe just now._

_Marius is doing well; he’s got cases again on his desk but thankfully none of them are slated for a court appearance. The children are also thriving, only that Marie-Fantine is still put out that she will not be able to see Laure all this summer. It is a bit unfortunate that Georges, in conspiracy with Armand Courfeyrac, sometimes plays mean pranks on her. Marius and I have spoken severely with him about it of course, but it is difficult to straighten him out of incorrigible habits from school. Lucille is a dear as always, and Jean has learned now to put two words together in the same sentence. That makes him quite ahead, if you ask me._

_I am sure that Azelma, Gavroche, and all the rest have written you about their respective exploits, so I will simply say that everyone is healthy and as well as can be expected. The shelter at the Rue de l’Ouest is lively as ever. The ladies at the schools at the Rue Simon Le Franc and the Invalides; according to Simone and the other schoolmistresses there will be 50 who will sit the school leaving exam and about 100 who will be accepted into different trades and workshops after completing their courses of study. I wish you and Claudine would be back soon so we can see about that idea of having the girls take the bac and enter the colleges!_

_Bossuet, upon some suggestions from Marthe as well as Marius and myself, has hit on the idea of making new glass shapes using the methods that dear Papa made in Montreuil-sur-mer. If you will remember, the bulk of Papa’s glasswork was for rosaries, reliquaries, and all kinds of religious articles. We will continue that of course, but I do not think it will be sinful if we also make glass for dressy jewelry. I would love to know what you think of this._

_As for me, I feel sometimes that it is so difficult to go on without Papa, but I have to remember he would not want to see me so sad. These days when I get up I feel more awake, and no longer like I am moving in a dream. Joly says it is a good sign, and that I should walk more in the sun so that I do not fall into melancholy or attain a permanent pallor. Papa would feel mortified to see me in deep mourning for him, but I know it is the right thing to do._

_Marius, Georges, Marie-Fantine, Lucille, Jean, and I send our love. Grandfather and Aunt Gillenormand also send their greetings. We wish that all of you will be home soon. Admittedly, with Enjolras and Combeferre also away, Courfeyrac will find himself balding with our friends’ antics._

_Sending all my best wishes and prayers_

_Cosette_

“Maybe I will have a thing or two to sketch for her after later,” Eponine said as she set aside the letter for safekeeping. She glanced back to her bed, where she had laid out the dress she was to wear for the afternoon reception at St James’ Palace. ‘ _It’s just as well that even Englishwomen do not have to wear that every day,’_ she thought, grimacing at the yards of fabric she would have to contend with later.

The low-cut dress was made of silk in such a light pink tint so that it almost appeared white. Small lace details embellished the neckline and short sleeves of the gown. Despite all her practice over the past few days, Eponine still nearly tripped under the weight of the train hanging from her back and draped over her arm. “This is already ridiculous, what more with the hair?” she hissed with frustration as she sat down once more to put her hair up in a bun at the back of her head.

“You’re going to need help with that,” Victoria called from the doorway. The Englishwoman was dressed in a plain grey gown that buttoned up almost the way to her chin. “It’s the least I could do, since I will not be able to go with you to the reception even if Ambassador Delaroche keeps insisting I do. Dr. Maturin needs me today, since we have to be at the Combeferres’ presentation.”

“I wish we could finish up early enough with the Prince, so we can catch up to the presentation,” Eponine said. She wrinkled her nose as she looked at herself again in the mirror. “I think this outfit would be pretty if it weren’t for the feathers,” she commented as Victoria began pinning in the white plumes. 

“You are there to be seen,” Victoria reminded her as she pinned another feather. “Now remember that Prince Albert comes from a country that is far stricter than England. Remember to curtsy, do not raise your eyes too often, try not to lisp, and _absolutely_ do not speak unless you are spoken to first!”

“And what if Citizen Delaroche does all the talking?”

“Well that’s how it’s going to have to be, but that is not likely to happen.”

Eponine shrugged. “I read the papers about him. He is against slavery and seems to be forward thinking.” She bit her lip as she watched Victoria position the short lace veil over her hair. ‘ _I don’t think even my own children would recognize me,’_ she thought as she carefully got to her feet and donned a pair of long white gloves. “I look like any other Englishwoman now, don’t I?” she asked the older woman.

“Yes, but your face gives you away as French,” Victoria said matter-of-factly. “Now you’d better leave with Ambassador Delaroche. He should probably be ready by now.”

Eponine ambled slowly out of her room, just in time to see Delaroche also exiting his. “Ah, you look magnificent, Citizenness,” Delaroche greeted her. “Almost like a marchioness!”

“Thank you very much, Citizen Delaroche,” Eponine said. She bit her lip as she looked over the diplomat’s own attire. “Is everything really supposed to be in black velvet?” she asked.

“Yes, from waistcoat, coat, and breeches. Everything else is silk,” Delaroche said proudly as he straightened his white bowtie, which looked jarring with the rest of the ensemble and his heavily pomaded grey hair. “It is the style that best suits a diplomat, since attires of other colors require one to wear gilt accessories with English insignias.”

Eponine nodded slowly as Delaroche donned a black silk cocked hat. ‘ _The only person I have ever seen wear breeches and that sort of hat nowadays is Marius’ grandfather,’_ she could not help thinking as she tried, and failed, to hold back a snort of laughter. It was all she could do to keep a straight face as they went downstairs to the lobby amid the gawking and whispers of the patrons and servants in the vicinity, more so when they boarded the closed carriage that would take them to Westminster.

Today the carriage ride going southeast was very slow, owing to the many conveyances that suddenly filled the street. “Are they all going to the palace?” Eponine asked the ambassador.

“Some, yes. Others to Parliament,” Delaroche replied. “We shall have to visit that soon enough, to discuss the new trade arrangements with France.”

“Might be simpler than what we have to do today,” Eponine muttered. Owing to the length of the carriage ride, she soon found herself quickly fighting off sleep for fear of messing up her hair. ‘ _Then again a nap is better than feeling like my stomach is going in knots,’_ she thought as she closed her eyes against the light flashing through the greenery outside.

_It had been Enjolras’ idea to visit the source of the Loiret River on the last morning of their visit to Orleans. “I see that Jehan is rubbing off on you,” Eponine teased him as they walked towards the gardens that formed part of the city’s largest park, at the center of which was the bubbling pool that marked the river’s origin. “He’s been writing a great deal about the beauty of nature unspoiled.”_

_“I wouldn’t call this unspoiled; this park once belonged to a noble before it was ceded to the city of Orleans about two years ago,” Enjolras pointed out. The mid-morning light seemed to catch in his hair, making it seem like a spun web of gold. He took her hand as they climbed over a small rocky outcropping that led up to a ledge overlooking the rest of the grounds. “It is not good for a populace’s water source to be under private ownership.”_

_“You always, always find something political even in nature,” Eponine teased as she moved to stand beside him. She glanced down at her boots and his, both pairs of which were still drying out from their quick trek in the woods. “Good thing we wore these instead of those nice shoes we’ve been wearing out all week.”_

_Enjolras smirked knowingly as he touched the back of her neck. “You were just waiting for this opportunity, I am sure.”_

_“To wear something more comfortable or to be here, just like this?” Eponine asked. The feel of his fingers on her skin was always so comforting, never mind what anybody else had to say about all the calluses. “And I know what else you miss too.”_

_“Do tell.”_

_“Well the last time you wore these boots, you were practicing savate with Feuilly.”_

_Enjolras nodded as he pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Yes, it has been a while.”_

_Eponine glanced down at their feet again. “I sometimes think you are a little different when you wear these boots, than when you wear your other shoes.”_

_“Why so?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow._

_“Well I’ve seen you fight with savate. You’re untamed. Farouche even,” she said with a smile. “With your other shoes you fight with words and that’s also something to see.” ._

_“You talk about shoes as if they were armor. A very odd but fitting way of saying it if you consider armor as attire to make one ready for the task at hand.”_

_She snorted. “So you feel ready to walk about in boots, or ready to take on the legislature when you wear your shoes for meetings?”_

_“Perhaps. You exhibit some of the same change yourself at times,” he pointed out._

_“I am always, simply, Eponine,” she retorted. before giving him a mischievous look. “But now we’re alone, I s’pose you can teach me a little, Antoine.”_

_“Savate, right here?”_

_“When will we next do it? I know I can’t always run, so I need some way to fight if I can’t find a cane or anything useful. Besides, I taught you a thing or two about using knives.”_

_Enjolras moved so that he was now facing her and standing at arm’s length. He stepped back to demonstrate a low kick to the side. “You will need to step back to gain momentum,” he said as he went to her side to help guide her into a fighting stance._

_Eponine tried to mimic what he had shown her, but found her legs rather impeded by her skirt. She attempted to do so again, only to end up nearly losing her balance. “One is not meant to look nice when doing this,” she huffed._

_“Unlike canne de combat, there’s little grace around with savate. Especially when used in the docks,’ he deadpanned._

_She shivered, remembering now the circumstances where he had learned it so many years ago, in what sometimes seemed to be a whole different lifetime before Paris, the revolution and her. “I can use my hands though?” she asked._

_“That is permissible.” He caught her hand in his and uncurled her fingers. “One should not strike with a closed fist.”_

_Eponine snorted. “So, one is supposed to slap the opponent?”_

_“I would not put it so delicately, Eponine,” Enjolras said, casually parrying an experimental jab to his shoulder. He evaded another one of her jabs before unexpectedly catching her in a firm hold around her waist, with her back against his chest. “That is one thing that can happen,” he said in her ear._

_“That’s not fair!” Eponine laughed as she tried squirming out of his grip, but she knew his strength all too well. It did not help that his mere proximity to her was enough to make her feel warm all over. “You don’t usually use this, do you?” she asked, feeling his grip relax slightly._

_“Not usually,” Enjolras said in her hair before he let her go. He too was a little flushed in the face, but his eyes were bright in a way she only saw in their most private moments. “I promise I will teach you when we get back to Paris,” he said as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles._

_Eponine grinned as she closed the distance between them, standing on tiptoe so that her brow just touched his. “Not if I disarm you first,” she whispered before giving him a kiss._

“Citizenness, we’ve arrived!”

Eponine groaned before opening her eyes. “Already?” she asked, trying to blink away sleep.

“More like we have _finally_ arrived,” Delaroche said impatiently, gesturing to the stately red-brick palace just outside. “The monarchs still hold their audiences here, even if they spend the majority of their time at Buckingham.”

‘ _Like having a drawing room in another house,’_ Eponine thought as she put her train over her arm before they stepped out of the carriage. She and Delaroche were quickly shown to an antechamber that would have been sumptuous if not for its close, stuffy feeling. “Are we the only ones that Prince Albert wishes to meet today?” she asked worriedly.

Delaroche pointed to a large door at one end of the antechamber. “Beyond that is the Levee room, where men of the aristocracy and of rank are presented to the King, or in this case the Prince. You can expect that many of them are present inside at this very minute.”

Eponine swallowed hard as she looked down at her feet, which were shod in satin slippers. ‘ _This armor will have to do then,’_ she told herself even as a richly dressed gentleman approached them. “Good afternoon Sir. Are we to be announced?” she asked, making a slight bow.

“You are to let your train down, Madam,” the gentleman said, motioning for her to let down her train.

Eponine quickly set down her train and allowed the attendant to spread out the train. She soon heard the door open as a voice announced loudly: “Mr. Aimery Delaroche, ambassador of France to England, and Mrs. Eponine Enjolras!”

She let Delaroche take her arm to lead her into the levee room, which was a long, low parlor with gilt panels and ornaments on the walls. The room was crowded on all sides with gentlemen of varying rank. ‘ _I’m sure some of them were at the Blakeneys’ ball, but I cannot tell when they are all looking so military,’_ she thought, noticing how many of them were in the dress uniforms of the army as well as the navy. There were also a good many ladies standing by, all of them sporting long feathers in their hairstyles. Most of these visitors looked bored even as they talked among themselves, seemingly not paying attention to the goings-on in the levee room, however there were a good number who still turned to see the newcomers.

At the far end of the room, seated on a dais, was a well-built man in the resplendent black and gold of a colonel. He wore a variety of honors such as a large star on his chest and a medallion of a Knights Grand Cross. He had a fine, clear brow, shiny dark brown hair that fell to the tops of his ears, and a well-trimmed mustache.

Delaroche made a deep bow to the Prince, while subtly signaling for Eponine to also make her obeisance. “Your Royal Highness, I have the honor of presenting Mrs. Eponine Enjolras, _nee_ Thenardier, our dignified visitor from France,” the ambassador said.

Prince Albert nodded before motioning for them to rise and move on. “We will speak later,” he said to Delaroche.

‘ _Is that all?’_ Eponine wondered as she tried to walk backwards, only to almost trip on her train till at last Delaroche placed the cumbersome fabric on her arm. “What did the Prince mean by ‘later’?” she asked in a whisper as they found a place to the side of the levee room.

“After this reception, we will get a chance to meet him for a longer discussion,” Delaroche said in an undertone even as another visitor was announced. “This levee is merely a preliminary.”

“A very long one,” Eponine whispered as she watched another gentleman in naval attire walk up for his own turn to bow to the Prince. After several more presentations of this sort, a lord at the end of the hall rapped his staff on the floor to signal the end of the levee. Delaroche took Eponine’s arm again as they followed a lord-in-waiting to a side room.

This chamber was only slightly more comfortable than the levee room’s antechamber; clearly it had been appointed for the royals’ comfort prior to the levees. A fire had been lit here to drive away any sort of draft. A large upholstered couch dominated the room, with only a couple of small seats for any other visitors. Despite the limited furnishings, the place was crowded with a number of lords and Knights of the Garter, with Prince Albert seated on the couch.

“Today’s unusual levee is further proof of today’s unique circumstances,” Prince Albert began as he motioned for Delaroche and Eponine to take their seats. “I have only agreed to receive you in my capacity as the chief advisor to Her Majesty.”

“We thank you for this accommodation,” Delaroche said. “It is essential to promoting further amity between our countries.”

Prince Albert held up a hand before training his eyes on Eponine. “Your works have been circulated time and again in England for some nine years now; I have read a number of them during the short years I have been residing here. I would consider many points to be very progressive particularly the plea for public education. We are now making similar reforms here in England, due to necessity,” he said.

“Yes, as well as calling for the abolition of slavery throughout the world,” Eponine managed to say. “That is one good thing England can lead in.”

“Her Majesty will be pleased to hear so,” Prince Albert said, rubbing his chin. “But your other points, I would consider to be rather provocative to social order.”

“And how so?”

“The use of education as a means of equipping women for participation in public life. It would be considered as a gross misuse of what is otherwise good.”

“I do not see why it would be harmful for a woman to be educated in politics and civics, if men are already expected to be so,” Eponine said.

“Educated, but at what cost?” Prince Albert asked. “The time spent studying those will displace the time that a woman will need to perfect her accomplishments if she is of the privileged class, or her housekeeping and domestic affairs if she is not. The hours in a day are finite.”

“Men also engage in leisure and occupations, and yet are expected to have a comprehensive knowledge of arts, sciences and everything else that is taught in school. I know every Englishman is expected to also improve himself with reading even after finishing school,” Eponine pointed out.

“Because he may be called upon at any time to perform a civic duty. He may be called to fight for King and country----or Queen and country in this case. He may become a magistrate, a mayor, even a member of Parliament,” the Prince said. “A woman is not called upon to perform such difficult offices.”

‘ _Keeping a home is difficult too,’_ Eponine said, but she bit her lip to keep from voicing this out. “Your Highness, is the idea of a woman ever holding office too shocking for a progressive England?” she asked.

Prince Albert frowned. “It would be redundant. A woman can, if she so chooses, be an influence over her husband’s politics. There is no need for a double representation.”

Eponine glanced at Delaroche, who was doing his best not to grimace. She bit her lip before meeting the Prince’s narrowed eyes. ‘ _Like he intends to banish all warmth in here,’_ she thought. “It may not catch in England, I suppose. But if it does, there is nothing in the English law that will hinder women from reading and doing for themselves.”

“That would have to be taken up with Parliament, and not even the most radical will consider such a suggestion,” the Prince said more coldly. “You will find that second to your French legislature, the English Parliament is already the most liberal of constitutional systems. This discussion would not be possible in Prussia or even in Saxe-Coburg.”

“I must agree with His Royal Highness that the Parliament is already a great step in the march of progress,” Delaroche cut in. “But rest assured, you will not find any agitators from France storming Parliament the way our Convention was in 1789.”

“Agitators being a polite way of saying it; I have read other stories,” Prince Albert said with barely disguised revulsion. He was silent for a long time as he rubbed his mustache, clearly deep in thought. “It is my opinion that as long as no incendiary material of that lineage is being circulated in England, there will be no cause for concern,” he said at last.

Delaroche nodded. “We thank you very deeply for this opportunity, Your Highness.”

“And I thank you both as well,” Prince Albert said before making a gesture to one of the lords-in-waiting standing next to him. “You both may go.”

Eponine stood up and made something of a curtsy before backing out of the room, no longer caring if her train got creased in the process. She waited one second for Delaroche to also leave and close the door. “Was that really all he wanted to ask?” she inquired querulously. “Just to make sure that books and papers would not be circulated about something he doesn’t like?”

“With upcoming discussions on trade between France and England, we cannot afford to have any concerns regarding proscribed material,” Delaroche informed her. “You should be thankful that after the gaffes of the past weeks that you have gotten this far.”

‘ _And will probably get no further,’_ Eponine realized as she caught up the train of her dress. “I would not consider this a success,” she said at last, shaking her head.

“Did you really think that he would extol the ideas of our Charter? You may as well have asked for the whole firmament, Citizenness!” Delaroche laughed. “Besides he is but only one opinion; he may be Prince and husband, but he is still a subject to the Queen.”

‘ _Would he have said such things in her hearing?’_ Eponine wondered, but she bit her lip as she followed Delaroche through the crowds between them and the exit of St. James’ Palace.


	17. Zaragoza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also one reason for the increased rating. TRIGGER WARNING here for sexual assault (actual and accusations of it), as well as someone framing another for a crime.

**Chapter 17: Zaragoza**

Although Enjolras was no stranger to arduous carriage trips, none of his past travels were as awkward as the three-day ride from Barcelona to Zaragoza. ‘ _It perhaps would be better if Belmont stopped trying to bring Jacques out of his surliness,’_ he thought as he tried to ignore the ambassador’s latest attempt to amuse the brooding youngster. For once, D’Aramitz’s accustomed silence was a relief, for the man did little more than read through documents or stare out the coach window during daylight hours.

“I had thought Jacques would nurse this slight for a short time, then be back to his cheery self. It would appear that he is a far more serious young man than most his age,” Belmont remarked during a short stop at an inn along the highway that connected Lleida in Catalonia to what had been the medieval kingdom of Aragon in the west.

“He has always felt matters deeply,” Enjolras simply said, looking up from the Spanish language book he had been reviewing.

Belmont winced. “More poet than diplomat. What will you do if he persists like this even when we are in Zaragoza?”

“This is his own matter to thresh out,” Enjolras replied more sternly. ‘ _Perhaps I was too early in trying him and his abilities,’_ he thought as he looked up from his reading to where Jacques was morosely sitting on the stoop of the inn.

Just then, D’Aramitz walked up with a perturbed expression on his face. “We are being followed,” he whispered in Occitan before casting a furtive look over his shoulder. “One carriage has stopped at every stop we’ve made since Barcelona.”

Belmont clenched his fist as he bit back a curse. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Dark blue carriage for two passengers, closed with no insignia or decal,” D’Aramitz said.

“Leave one by one. Go around by the side of the inn before meeting at the carriage,” Belmont instructed. “And wear your hat, Citizen Enjolras!”

Enjolras gritted his teeth as he donned his black hat so as to cover his hair. ‘ _Another set of spies, no doubt,’_ he noted as he walked over to Jacques. “We must leave now,” he said to the boy.

Jacques looked over at him petulantly. “Why are you in such a hurry to get to Zaragoza?”

“The delegates from Galicia, Asturias and Cantabria, not to mention of Aragon itself are probably already expecting us,” Enjolras replied. ‘ _Not to mention that if there is any news from France, it is probably already waiting for us there too.’_

Jacques begrudgingly got to his feet and dusted off his pantaloons. “If we were not rushing, we’d have a few more days in Barcelona,” he said under his breath.

Enjolras chose not to dignify this with any response, but he waited for Jacques to leave the inn first before following after a few minutes. He took the opportunity to have a good look at the other carriages waiting outside the inn, but he could not find any conveyance matching the description of the carriage D’Aramitz had seen. ‘ _Perhaps the passenger is on an errand of more haste than ours,’_ he reasoned, but this did not quash the feeling of unease that suffused him once again even as he boarded the diplomatic coach once more.

“We will ride through the night and reach Zaragoza in the morning,” Belmont said once their entire party was settled in the coach. “That way we can shake off any intriguers on our trail.”

D’Aramitz winced even as he nodded. “At least we get to rest in your leased house there.”

“It is more modest than my residence in Barcelona, but it is well suited for this climate,” Belmont said to Enjolras and Jacques. “Naturally, the grandest is in Madrid, but I have little liking for it, or its neighbors,” he added before stretching and closing his eyes.

‘ _We will find out soon enough,’_ Enjolras thought as he tried to also get comfortable for the long night ahead. Despite his best efforts, it felt like hours till he at last fell into a fitful and dreamless sleep. When he opened his eyes, the landscape around them was dark save for the pale rays of dawn breaking through the treetops and over the distant hills. He craned his neck to get a better look out the carriage windows, where he had a clear view of a city by a large river, marked with ornate cathedral spires and domes that were now bathed in golden sunlight. The sight was so awe-inspiring that he would have leaned further out the window to get a better look, if not for a hand suddenly tugging on one of his coattails to force him back inside.

Enjolras quickly seated himself properly and looked at Belmont, who was grinning widely. “My apologies,” he said, feeling his cheeks grow warm.

Belmont only laughed heartily. “Zaragoza is awe-inspiring but that is the first time I have seen anyone have that reaction to glimpsing it for the first time.”

“It is a sight worthy of committing to memory,” Enjolras said even as he saw D’Aramitz and Jacques also now beginning to wake. “I take that this is more of the Moorish influence, the further south we go in Spain?” he asked Belmont.

“It is called _Mudejar_ , which is a cross of Moorish influence with some more familiar features of our Gothic and Romanesque buildings,” Belmont said with some distaste. “Were these buildings in the way of the mistral wind, they would not be this ornate. And this style is a remnant of a mingling with a faith that the Spanish monarchs were so eager to expunge from the land.”

‘ _For some leaders, it is inconceivable to have all consciences be given equal weight or right,’_ Enjolras mused as the coach continued towards the center of Zaragoza. Within sight of the river were impressive and stately houses that bore the various crests and insignias of their noble inhabitants. Belmont’s own residence was located just a short distance from these palatial dwellings but was far more modest in scale. Like other dwellings in this vicinity, there were two distinct entrances: one for guests and one for servants.

Waiting at the door of the ambassador’s house were a buxom woman with a well-tanned face and large hands. Standing with her was a slightly built, raven-haired girl about sixteen years of age. This pair was well attired in matching light blue gowns with dainty aprons. “ _Senor_ Belmont! You’ve arrived!” the older of the two exclaimed upon seeing the carriage.

“Yes, thank you for waiting up for us, _Senora_ Torralba,” Belmont said gallantly as he alighted. He nodded to his guests. “Gentlemen, I am pleased to introduce one of my trusted housekeepers in all of Spain: _Senora_ Rexina Cristeta Torralba y’ Borcha, and her daughter _Senorita_ Maria Alionor Torralba y’ Borcha. ”

Enjolras had to do his best not to look at Jacques, who had ducked his head to hide his blush even as the ladies made a slight curtsy while Belmont continued the introductions. ‘ _Infatuation indeed!’_ he thought as he also bowed courteously. “Thank you very much for the welcome,” he said to them.

Rexina smiled widely as she reached into her bosom and brought out a letter. “This was forwarded to here, all the way from England. Have you an English sweetheart, _Senyor_ Enjolras?”

“A wife of nine years and counting, and she is a full Frenchwoman,” Belmont informed her. “Is breakfast already set?”

“It should be,” Rexina replied. “Alionor, please go in and make sure the other girls have the coffee piping hot! I must show these gentlemen to their accommodations; it is a pity you have less than a week here in Zaragoza!”

“Now that was not by choice,” Belmont said as he let Rexina take his arm by way of leading them into the house. D’Aramitz only yawned at this pair’s chatter, while Jacques’ gaze trailed in the general direction of the kitchen where Alionor had gone. Enjolras on the other hand brought up the rear of the group just so he could open the letter. As he went through Eponine’s account of what had transpired at the Blakeneys’ ball, he gritted his teeth with indignation even as he tried not to imagine what had actually occurred. ‘ _If I had been there, that could have been easily prevented,’_ the thought occurred to him, but he put it out of his mind as soon as it occurred.

As he read through the rest of Eponine’s message, he could not help but smile at the vivid memory evoked in these words; the morning light in the foyer of this house at Zaragoza made it easier for him to recollect the way the sun had fallen in that secret garden by a champagne vineyard they had visited all those years before. “We saw and did many things in Reims, indeed,” he murmured as he walked faster to catch up with the group.

After a much-needed repast, Rexina eagerly showed the visitors to their rooms. Enjolras’ own room was at the end of the second-floor hallway, with a large window with a spectacular view of the Ebro river and the spacious residences on either side of it. The place was more sumptuously furnished than his lodgings in Barcelona; intricate woodwork panels in the shape of octagons and zigzags covered the walls, and these same designs also adorned a large screen near the window. Owing to the morning light, Enjolras did not have any need to light a candle as he began to set these words to paper:

_May 2, 1842_

_Zaragoza, Spain_

_Eponine,_

_The post is indeed out of order; we were about to leave Barcelona when I received a whole passel of your missives written before the 19 th of last month. I am pleased that you directly forwarded to Zaragoza your letter dated on the 20th of April. I hope that this reply will hearten you, especially after what you had to relate. _

_This city is best described in the image from a camera obscura or even in a sketch; had I your skill for the latter, I would try to do this some justice. As it stands, this description in words will have to suffice; it is a city of multiple influences from all over the continent. The spires are remnants of the mosques and other architectural wonders of the former Muslim State, but everything closer to the ground is Aragonese mingled with the solid Roman tradition and the graceful Gothic. The river Ebro is not quite like the Seine but is picturesque owing to its riverside denizens._

_Yet this description would fall short of your observations, were you here at present. Your singularity is perhaps what makes all recollections of our past journeys more vivid._

Before he could write another line, a hurried knock sounded on the door. “Citizen Enjolras, we have a guest already; the envoy from Galicia has arrived,” D’Aramitz said.

‘ _Till later then,’_ Enjolras thought as he reluctantly set the half-finished letter aside to dry before donning his cravat and coat once more and heading downstairs. He walked into the house’s airy sitting room in time to see Belmont conversing intently with an uncommonly tall gentleman built like a stevedore. “I see we are beginning with business quite early,” he noted cordially. 

“Which is the talk of the hour,” Belmont said. “I’d like to introduce _Senor_ Estevo Barbosa y’ Valera. _Senor_ Barbosa, my colleagues _Senor_ D’Aramitz and _Senor_ Enjolras.”

“Ah yes the French innovators,” Barbosa said effusively. “I was just discussing with _Senor_ Belmont how necessary it is now for France and Spain to renew their trade agreements. Both countries have suffered a great deal in the past years, economically speaking.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this even as he took a seat. “Enlighten us on the specifics.”

“Spain has had its overseas reach diminished in the past half-century; first with the cessation of the trade between Manila and Acapulco, and then the loss of Mexico as a colony altogether. And to my knowledge France has let go of its colonies all over the world and ceased its incursions into the uncharted lands of Africa,” Barbosa said. “It is a shame that even at least the foothold in Algeria was let go of so suddenly with your revolution.”

‘ _Feuilly would definitely enjoy this discussion,’_ Enjolras thought as he looked directly at the Galician. “That development was necessary to uphold the peoples’ right to self-determination and their way of life.”

“A terrible cost for the coffers of Europe. Those territories were rich in resources that could be rightfully shared within an empire or commonwealth,” Barbosa said, shaking his head. “At least Spain still has its colonies such as Cuba and the Philippines, so that puts us on a better footing than France and our neighbors with limited holdings.”

“From the standpoint of empire and trade within it, yes, but solely there,” Enjolras concurred. He noticed that D’Aramitz seemed absorbed in thought, while Belmont had crossed the room to give further instructions to a servant. “There are other questions to consider however such as the mere principle of maintaining sovereignty over a land and people so foreign, as well as the expenditure of resources needed to maintain a colonial government.”

Barbosa stirred uncomfortably. “You speak of the loss of Mexico? That was an ungrateful, belligerent citizenry, the worst combination of their volatile temperament indulged by new ideas of liberty,” he said with more vitriol. “The latter being very familiar to you.”

“I was speaking of a generality,” Enjolras pointed out. “It would, from some pragmatic standpoints, be more fitting for a proud country to pour the taxes and sacrifices of the citizenry into the avenue of internal development instead of the maintenance of forts and townships in a land many of them will hear about only in news and traveler’s accounts.” 

“Structures that have provided the light of civilization to some of the most remote corners of the world,” Barbosa said. “Were it not for our missionaries’ efforts, the peoples of Mexico would still be slaying their children in ritual sacrifices.”

‘ _A very extreme example, but it is what it is,’_ Enjolras thought. “It would be possible to end such reprehensible practices without resorting to the violent extinctions so associated with colonial rule,” he said after a few moments.

“Perhaps, but before this discussion turns into talk more fitting for a seminary, let us go in for lunch,” Belmont chimed in uncomfortably. “My table is always an exemplar of what may come out of profitable trade between France and this kingdom of Spain!”

‘ _A timely distraction,’_ Enjolras noted, more so on seeing Barbosa’s vexed expression. It was then that he saw Jacques suddenly make his way into the room. “Where have you been?” he asked the boy in an undertone.

“Upstairs,” Jacques said. “Writing to my sister.”

‘ _About time he did,’_ Enjolras thought as they went in for luncheon. Much to his surprise this proved to be a most necessary balm, for the belligerent Galician turned merry once fed. Even Jacques, who had made himself scarce for most of the morning, now conversed more instead of merely gracing the table with silence. ‘ _Although of course he should be less obvious when looking around for young Senorita Torralba,’_ he thought when he saw how often his brother-in-law’s gaze strayed to the housekeeper’s daughter who was tasked by her mother to refill the gentlemen’s coffee cups in between meals.

It was already late in the evening when at last Belmont finished his last cup of coffee. “We can discuss the intricacies of the Spanish trade tomorrow; perhaps when our friends from Aragon, Asturias and Cantabria arrive,” he said, holding back a yawn. “Your chamber downstairs has been prepared, _Senor_ Barbosa.”

D’Aramitz, who had been almost asleep on the table, now blinked blearily before also shaking Jacques awake. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven in the evening,” Enjolras said, now taking a look at his pocket watch. ‘ _I will have to wind it before sleeping,’_ he thought as they all rose from the table and headed to their respective accommodations.

Upon reaching his room, Enjolras lost no time in taking off his coat, which was already rather wrinkled from travel and soaked with the sweat of the day. He was just about to also unbutton his waistcoat when he heard a step in the darkness. “Who’s there?” he called, quickly snatching up a candle on his desk and lighting it.

“You need not speak so loudly, Citizen Enjolras,” a low voice said over the rustling of skirts. A woman emerged from behind the screen and tossed a shawl onto the floor. “It is terribly difficult to catch you alone.”

Enjolras’ eyes narrowed as he took in the identity of this intruder. “What are you doing here, Citizenness Berlioz?”

“Oh, so formal even in your rooms, when you can call me Celeste,” the woman said, lowering her voice further in what would have been a sultry manner were it not for the devious look in her eyes. “Are you that way even around _her_?”

“How did you make your way here to Zaragoza?” Enjolras asked, crossing his arms.

“The same way you did, by coach.” Celeste Berlioz sauntered over to his bed and sat down, crossing her legs as she looked right at him. “Come now, I know you are aware that I have been following you.”

“In a most unseemly fashion,” Enjolras retorted. “Do you even _have_ a passport to be here?”

“Why so many questions?” Celeste laughed. “Is that how you greet an old friend when she’s traveled so many miles just to see you?”

“I would not use that term so liberally, Citizenness,” Enjolras said, placing emphasis on the last word. In the dim candlelight he could see that the woman had chosen a diaphanous dress that emphasized her décolletage, but he deliberately averted his eyes from this spectacle. “I insist that you leave, right away.”

“And I insist that I stay.” Celeste whispered as she got to her feet and crossed the room so that she was now standing right in front of him. “Surely you would need some…relief after all this time away from home.”

“That is none of your concern,” Enjolras said with unmitigated disgust. Before he could make his way to the door, he suddenly felt her hand on his leg, with her fingernails trailing up towards his groin. The sensation made his stomach turn even as he managed a step backwards. “Get out.”

“You cannot order me around like I am some common whore,” she hissed. “I am not like that slut who has the cheek to call herself your wife!”

His eyes narrowed at this slight. “This discussion is over,” he said coldly as he went to the door again.

Celeste shook her head before rushing to put herself between him and the door, effectively using her hips to block the knob. “What are you going to do, have the ambassador throw me out? It would ruin you too,” she said before laughing derisively. “And all of this because you ignore me in favor of that trollop from Paris.”

“One more word about Eponine---”

“What a ridiculous name. Do you know how we all laughed in the drawing rooms when we found out she was throwing herself at you?”

“That is irrelevant,” Enjolras pointed out even as he tried to look for some opening to get Celeste away from the door, at least long enough for him to put her off balance and alert others in the house. “You can choose to leave civilly, or in disgrace, Citizenness.”

At this last word, Celeste’s jaw dropped, and she stared at him for a long moment. “And is that all I am to you---first Mademoiselle, then Citizenness? After all our years together in Aix---”

“Of a childhood acquaintance and nothing more,” Enjolras cut in. “This is presumptuous.”

“Presumptuous? I who am your equal in rank, am presumptuous?” Celeste laughed once again. “Everyone admired you. I admired you. I hoped, Enjolras, that you would just go off to study in Paris and come back, as all the young men do when they have to be sensible for their families. And for a time we all hoped you would, till she came along!”

“Citizenness—”

“I had every right to marry you! It was supposed to happen, in the course of things! The only son of your family should get what he deserves, and not ending up with some guttersnipe from God knows where!”

“I believe you have said enough,” he said, taking a step to the side even as he saw that she kept her eyes trained on him. “In no way were you, or ever will be, the arbiter in my affairs.”

Celeste’s eyes widened at his sharp tone, but she did not avert her gaze. “It isn’t too late for us, Enjolras. Come home, back to Aix. You can live a respectable life there, with your parents nearby. With someone who loves you.”

“Get out.”

“I am only trying to help you!”

Enjolras shook his head before he moved towards the door again in another attempt to reach the knob, but he was caught by her hand around his wrist. ‘ _Damn her nails!’_ he thought as he managed to pry her hand off him only to have her claw at his face and arms. He threw up one arm to block her even as he quickly moved to the side, this time managing to finally throw her off balance long enough for him to throw the door open and dash out into the darkened hallway.

He did not bother to look back at Celeste as he made for the far end of the hallway. _‘Which room is Citizen Belmont’s?’_ he wondered as he began knocking on doors. “Wake up! There’s an intruder!” he shouted.

“A what?” D’Aramitz yelled as he emerged from one of the rooms. His eyes widened when he saw Enjolras. “You’re bleeding!”

Enjolras looked at his arms, and saw several red streaks now welling up with red droplets of blood. He touched his face, which was now beginning to sting with pain and found even more crimson on his fingers. By this time both Belmont and Jacques were in the hallway, while Rexina, Alionor and Barbosa were coming up the stairs with bewildered expressions. “What, a prowler came in through your window?” Rexina asked confusedly.

‘ _I highly doubt so,’_ Enjolras thought as he wordlessly led them to his room. When he held up the candle to the darkness, he was greeted by the sight of Celeste kneeling on the ground with her hair in total disarray and her dress torn. The chairs in the room had been upset and his desk swept clean of his belongings which were now scattered on the floor.

Belmont quickly took the candle from Enjolras. “Who are you?” he bellowed.

“Citizen, I am French. I’m Citizenness Berlioz, from Aix-en-Provence,” Celeste said, raising her eyes to the diplomat. Scratches also covered her cheeks and her neck. “You are the ambassador? You have to help me!”

“In what way can I assist?” Belmont asked, going to help her to her feet. 

Celeste burst into tears as she looked at him then at Enjolras. “Your guest brought me to this room and assaulted me!”


	18. An Inquisition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken some liberties with police procedure here. Also please bear in mind that this would differ from a modern day investigation owing to situation, language and prevailing attitudes of the day

**Chapter 18: An Inquisition**

It had taken about a quarter of an hour till Belmont had succeeded in locking a hysterical Celeste Berlioz in one room, and more calmly conducting Enjolras to another to await the arrival of the police. “I am sorry for this, but you as a lawyer would know this is necessary,” Belmont said. “Rest assured, we will not sleep till this matter has been thoroughly looked into.”

“Thank you for your diligence, Citizen,” Enjolras said before Belmont shut and locked the door. He gritted his teeth as he looked around the small room, which was sparsely furnished with bare cupboards and a single chair. ‘ _This was probably some oratory,’_ he thought, noticing several recesses along one wall that were large enough to fit tall tapers and statues.

Enjolras went to the room’s sole window, where he had a view of the moon setting. He brought out his watch to wind it up, feeling more than relieved that it had not been broken in the past hour’s altercation. He smiled a little wistfully as his thumb ran over a familiar engraving along the back, which read “August 4, 1833.” ‘ _Will it be possible to be back in Paris before the 4 th of August then?’ _he wondered silently as he tried to ignore the dull sting from the scratches all over his face and arms.

After a few minutes, the lock clicked open and the door opened to admit a bearded man clad in a uniform of pure light blue material, but with silver regalia on the lapel. “Good evening _Senor_. I am Andreu Quinto of the City Guard,” he greeted in broken French as he held back a yawn. “Your ambassador summoned us here because of a domestic disturbance.”

“I would not think that trespassing is a domestic disturbance,” Enjolras said icily in Spanish.

Quinto blinked at him. “You know Spanish?”

“A little of the language. Will an interpreter be necessary?” Enjolras replied.

“We shall see. Is _Senor_ Enjolras a lawyer?”

“Yes. I work with the Ministry of Justice, based in Paris.”

“Then you are aware of the gravity of the predicament you are in, _Senor_ ,” Quintos continued, reverting now to Spanish. “Tell us in your words what transpired this night.”

“For most of the evening I was dining with _Senor_ Belmont and our companions. When we retired for the evening, I went directly to my room. _Senora_ Berlioz was waiting there, unlooked for,” Enjolras said. The words felt thick on his lips, partly from the effort of translating his thoughts into Spanish and partly from the weariness of the hour.

“She attacked you?” Quintos asked, gesturing to the scratches on Enjolras’ arms.

“Only when I made for the door, when she would not be reasoned with,” Enjolras said.

“Indeed. But you already knew that she was a trespasser, but you did not think to call for help immediately?”

“I did not deem her to be a threat at the onset.”

Quintos’ brow furrowed. “Then, you are acquainted with the lady?”

“Our families are both from Aix. That is the only connection,” Enjolras replied.

“Still a familiarity, but only that? You never paid court to her, or wooed her?” Quintos asked. “It is not unheard of to have a childish promise be misunderstood and result in ugly scenes, especially among the passionate.”

“Never.”

“Not even a letter when you were studying in the capital?”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “I barely had time to write even to my own kin.”

Quintos nodded slowly and gestured to Enjolras’ wedding ring. “Yet I see you are married. How strange it is that your own lawfully wedded spouse should be out of reach, when this woman you claim no connection would suddenly appear in your lodgings,” he remarked. “Apart from _Senor_ Belmont, you have two companions. Who are they?”

“One is my brother-in-law, _Senorito_ Thenardier, who I have acted as guardian for and who is accompanying me as an assistant to the delegation,” Enjolras said. “The second is _Senor_ D’Aramitz, who we met with in Nimes.”

“And have any of them met or corresponded with the lady in question?”

“My brother-in-law only glimpsed her once, but no longer than a moment when we were in Aix for a very brief visit to my parents. I do not think _Senor_ D’Aramitz is acquainted with her.”

Quintos was silent for a moment. “You answer well, _Senor_ Enjolras. Yet for purposes of this investigation, you must remain here till we have properly finished our questioning in this house. Good night for now,” he said as he turned to leave.

‘ _Which may not be till morning,’_ Enjolras realized as he heard the door being locked anew. Darkness had fallen all over the town, and silence throughout the house. Not even the sounds of footsteps in the hall or whisperings from the rooms nearby could penetrate the stout door of his cell. He sat back in the chair and closed his eyes in an attempt to distract himself from the now dull pain from the gouges all over his face and arms. Yet even the quiet and the darkness could not lull him into slumber, and for the next seemingly interminable minutes he lay awake till he heard footsteps walking loudly in his general direction.

“You have a very difficult matter on your hands, _Senor_ Enjolras,” Quintos said gravely as he opened the door. “ _Senora_ Berlioz has a serious accusation against you; that you attempted to take advantage of her in your room.”

“A room which she trespassed with the intention of confronting me on baseless grounds,” Enjolras pointed out as he got to his feet. “I have reason to believe she is here in Spain, illegally.”

“That is for your ambassador to decide,” the constable said, holding up a hand. “In the meantime, you must come with me.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth as he followed Quintos to the sitting room, which was fully occupied with a contingent from the city guard. Also seated there was Belmont who was talking to a stricken-looking Jacques, while D’Aramitz was smoking a cigar in a corner. Rexina was standing in a corner looking uneasy, heedless of Barbosa’s attempts to distract her with chatter.

Celeste Berlioz was seated in an armchair placed safely between two large constables. Someone had wrapped her in a coat, clearly with the aim of protecting her modesty. “Thank you for bringing him in, Citizen Quintos,” she cried in French.

Quintos glanced at her. “Please keep quiet. _Senor_ Belmont’s housekeeper will translate, as she did earlier,” he said, levelling a look at Rexina.

Rexina was red in the face as she came forward. “Must I?” she asked Quintos. “The lady has said enough.”

“Not to the gentleman,” Quintos said. He looked at Enjolras again. “According to _Senora_ Berlioz, you invited her to Zaragoza. You have been written to her time and again, keeping up your relationship with her even while you were in Paris. And when she came here at your invitation, you tried to take advantage of her.”

“That is a lie,” Enjolras said slowly; at this sleepy hour he could no longer trust his pronunciation, but it was clear that he had to make the effort. “I never engaged in any sort of correspondence with her.”

Celeste laughed. “And how could you prove that?” she taunted in French.

Quintos rubbed his temples as he listened to Rexina’s translation of this. “The proof is on both of you then. You, _Senora_ , do you have a letter from him on your person?”

“Of course not, why would I bring it?” Celeste asked.

“Very well then, you can check my room upstairs. I have there every letter I have received ever since setting out from Paris a month ago,” Enjolras said. He smirked as Celeste went pale. “You will be hard pressed to find any note from her there.”

“Search the room,” Quintos instructed one of his fellow constables. “ _Senor_ Belmont, did you ever admit _Senora_ Berlioz to your house?” he asked as two men left the room.

Belmont shook his head. “I have never seen her before this evening.”

“Then how is it that you have entered this house?” Quintos asked, turning to Celeste.

“I was admitted,” Celeste insisted.

“By who?”

“By me, good _Senor_ Quintos,” a soft voice chimed in. All eyes turned to Alionor, who was standing in the doorway with a most contrite expression. “She said she had a message to give _Senor_ Belmont, so I let her in.”

“And you did not tell me?” Rexina cried, turning on her daughter.

“Because I thought she would go straight in, and be right out again,” Alionor stammered, yet even so her gaze strayed to Jacques, who had gone beet red. “I didn’t think she would stay.”

“We’ll talk about this later!” Rexina fumed. Her face was flushed as she looked at Belmont and at Quintos. “Shall we continue?”

Quintos sighed deeply and rubbed his brow. “And was there no one else who saw _Senora_ Berlioz on the premises?”

“I did,” Jacques said. He looked shame-facedly at Enjolras. “I was with _Senorita_ Torralba.”

“And you didn’t recognize her?” Enjolras asked.

“Something about her seemed familiar but I didn’t think it had to be brought up!” Jacques said with a look of utmost misery. “I just didn’t know what to say to you anymore!”

‘ _What happens in Barcelona is definitely not staying in Barcelona,’_ Enjolras realized, now feeling an ache building in his temples. “We will also speak about this later,” he said sternly even as the constables returned with a sheaf of opened letters.

Quintos quickly grabbed the letters and began leafing through them. “Paris, Paris, Paris, Paris, and these from Aix: two from Henri Enjolras, three from a Monique and Louis Enjolras,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “And a _lot_ from a certain Eponine Enjolras in London.”

“What kind of a wife stays away from her husband?” Celeste laughed. “Theirs isn’t even an actual marriage!”

“Be silent, _Senora_ ,” Quintos said, no longer masking his irritation. “Both of you have differing stories that I must reconcile, particularly concerning the use of physical force.”

“He hurt me when he tried to hold me down,” Celeste said with a sniffle. “With those great big hands of his that I had to fight off---”

“Very well then. You have scratches on your face after all.” Quintos said. He motioned for someone to bring over a candle. “May I see your hands, _Senor_?”

Enjolras held out his hands for Quintos to inspect. Even on the road he made it a point to keep his nails short, more out of force of habit. Somehow this baffled Quintos, who merely shrugged before going to also inspect Celeste’s hands. The woman resisted until two constables tugged her hands forward, at which she gave Enjolras a look of pure venom.

Quintos’ face darkened as he drew himself up to his full height. “Only _one_ of you has blood under the fingernails. I think the matter is clear. _Senora_ Berlioz, we will have to take you into custody for the night---”

“How dare you!” Celeste screeched as she got to her feet. “I’m a French citizen, none of you can prosecute me!”

“Which is why you must face your penalty in France. Now restrain yourself!” Belmont said harshly to Celeste.

Celeste shook her head. “This…this could all have been avoided if you had been sensible and come home like everyone said you should!” she spat at Enjolras. “I’ve done nothing but wait for you all these years, like any proper girl would do for a boy going to Paris. But no, I had to hear from your mother that you were seduced by some common thief and whore!”

“You’ve said enough,” Enjolras said, fixing her with a look that made her step backwards with wide eyes. “Bold of you to presume you represent the opinion of the whole of Aix,” he added before gesturing to the constables to close in. 

Belmont nodded grimly. “Thank you for your assistance, _Senor_ Quintos. I will speak with you after breakfast.” He cringed as he saw Rexina scolding her daughter loudly over the girl’s sobs. “And what will you do about young Jacques?”

Enjolras glanced towards where the boy sat with his head buried in his hands. “For now, give him time to think over his omission,” he said. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“Allow me to fetch a doctor, to tend to those scratches,” Belmont offered.

“A simple wash will do,” Enjolras said before heading up to his room. He shook his head as he saw once again the mess that Celeste Berlioz had made of his desk; papers were strewn everywhere, at least one pen was broken, and ink had congealed in puddles all over the place. ‘ _Probably best to rewrite that letter by daylight,’_ he decided as he tried to put some order back into the place by mopping up the ink and setting some of the paper and pens back on the desk.

After a long while, he heard a knock on the door. “What is it?”

“The water and a washcloth you requested, _Senor,”_ Rexina said before her footsteps hurried away from the door.

Enjolras opened the door to find a basin of cold water and a washcloth set on the floor. He brought these into his room and quickly scrubbed the dried blood off his face and his arm, until the washcloth was limp and sodden in his hands and the sting from his wounds had lessened. ‘ _If only to forget,’_ he thought as he looked out again on the now pitch-black night.


	19. Where Solidarity is Lost and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some triggers for mentions of domestic abuse of a bit character. Bonus if anyone guesses who she is.

**Chapter 19: Where Solidarity is Lost and Found**

_May 2, 1842_

_Claridges, London_

_Dear Monique,_

_I am very thankful for your letter that reached me just yesterday evening. To have news of the children, and of course you, Louis, and all of Antoine’s cousins in Aix is a great thing to cheer us all up here---us meaning myself, Neville, and the Combeferres. I am glad that the spring weather is agreeing with you and that the mistral did not blast the citron trees. It is good that Etienne is sleeping through the night now, and I am happy that he is finally cheering up in the country. And of course, you have to admit that I was right about Julien and the library, or about Laure and wanting to ride a horse. Do you really think that any child born of your son would be any less than willful?_

_I agree with you that the post from Spain is quite unreliable; my letters to Antoine reach him only after terrible delays and I fear sometimes they arrive in bunches instead of in proper order. It does not help that my brother Jacques has become an infrequent correspondent._

_Since London is in its social season, there is much to do, that is if one is invited to such events. My own invitations have been, thankfully few, or I would be in debt for finery. Many ladies here, I have been told, have the audacity to order their outfits only at the last minute. The money is no matter, but the rush and bother to finish a dress tax the poor seamstresses severely. For my part I had enough time to prepare an outfit for what is called a levee, or a meeting with royalty. It is more useful for young men meeting the monarchs for the first time, but it is an opportunity for any man of importance to make an impression. I accompanied the ambassador and got to meet the Prince, but that meeting was not particularly successful for a number of reasons including our opposing views and even temperaments. And as a result of this, I missed entirely being with the Combeferres and my brother at their moment of triumph. It is an afternoon I greatly regret._

_As for all the things to see, I’m enclosing what sketches of them I can make. It is sad that daguerreotypes are too difficult to send by post because nothing quite compares to catching the pictures themselves. I think you might like the drawing I made of a gown; if made properly and with our French flairs you would be all the rage in Aix. I’ve also sent sketches of carriages for Louis and for Henri upon their request; apparently they were intrigued by Neville’s study in his latest letter. The drawings for Laure, Julien, and Etienne are of different things that can be seen in Hyde Park, and I have written little stories for their amusement too._

_Neville, Claudine, and Combeferre send their warm regards and will surely write to you too about their success. Please give Laure, Julien, and Etienne a hug and a kiss from me. The thought of being reunited with them soon, and with Antoine, helps make these days far away much easier._

_Your friend,_

_Eponine_

As soon as this letter was fully dry, Eponine quickly slipped it into an envelope already stuffed with her various sketches from over the weekend. “I wish I could see the children’s faces when they see my pictures,” she said to Claudine wistfully as she sealed the envelope. The two women were sitting up in Eponine’s room, using the early afternoon to work on their correspondence. “How do you ever do with being away from your own children when you and Combeferre have to be away for a few days?” the younger woman asked.

“Right now ,it is bearable since they are so young, but when they are old enough for schooling, Francois and I will have to rework our arrangement,” Claudine said. “Especially for Yvie’s sake since I want her from an early age to know she can and will have a place in the world.”

“Ten years ago, there was no such thing yet as the new French Republic, or women doing as we did. Maybe in ten years more, Yvie will get to go to the Sorbonne with Rene,” Eponine said. “Or the medical school, the Ecole Polytechnique or anything she wants.”

Claudine sighed deeply. “I think just getting considered for _one_ of those schools would be a victory enough.” As she moved to pick up her pen, she heard a knock on the door. “The door is unlocked, Victoria,” she called.

“I know, but I have a friend who wants to meet you both,” Victoria said from the hallway. “Is it fine with Mrs. Enjolras if we come in?”

Eponine gave Claudine a skeptical look. “You’re on first-name terms with her now?” she whispered furtively.

“She’s not an altogether terrible person,” Claudine argued. “Even you can’t deny that.”

‘ _I know but she hasn’t given me reason to trust her entirely,’_ Eponine thought as she bit her lip. She deftly set aside her notes and got to her feet, all the while smoothing down her dress. “I will meet you both in the hallway,” she said as she crossed the room to open the door.

Victoria stood in the hallway, once again in her usual walking attire. With her was a woman just a few years her junior, dressed more gaily in pink and with her light brown hair in fashionable curls around her face. “Mrs. Enjolras, I’d like to introduce my friend Mrs. Julia Willamson,” Victoria began. “Mrs. Williamson, meet our guest from Paris, Mrs. Enjolras.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Enjolras,” Julia greeted with a wide smile as she made a slight curtsy. “I read so many of the pamphlets you and your friends published, and now I get to meet you in the flesh!”

“Funny you should say that; I was told that such writings were not accepted here in London,” Eponine replied curiously.

“Ah my husband and I are not from London; we’re from Manchester and we’re only here for the Season,” Julia said with a grin.

“Well I’m glad our paths crossed; I’ve only come from Paris for part of this Season,” Eponine quipped as she stepped aside to let the newcomers into her room. ‘ _Hopefully, she proves to be a kinder one than that Lady Blakeney,’_ she could not help thinking as she watched Victoria introduce Julia to Claudine.

“I was not able to attend the lecture with the Royal Society yesterday, but Victoria was telling me it was quite a success and that Dr. Maturin was greatly pleased,” Julia continued effusively. “Is Dr. Combeferre also here now?”

“He and Dr. Maturin are at a meeting with some university faculty,” Claudine explained. “What about the other gentlemen?”

“The ambassador Delaroche is at his office, Citizen Reynault is meeting some MPs---that is Members of the Parliament, I s’pose, and Citizen Lamarre is with him,” Eponine said. “And I think my brother mentioned he would be visiting some new friends of his, from that ball?”

“Yes, we saw him on the stairs,” Victoria said. “That nice young man Neville Thenardier is her brother,” she told Julia.

“He is? He’s become quite popular with the younger set who were at the Blakeneys’ ball here in Mayfair,” Julia prattled on. “While on the other hand that Lord Griffiths has had the reverse; he’s been cut by so many people since!”

Eponine frowned at the mention of this noble. “When we say ‘cut’ in Paris it means a specific thing. Some harm has come to him?” she asked carefully.

“Which is to say he is not readily acknowledged by those he meets, be it on the street or in some occasion,” Victoria explained. “But don’t blame yourself for it; it’s been long in coming to Lord Griffiths if you ask me.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s the reason her husband deliberately stays away during the Season,” Julia chimed in. “Well, it is true,” she added, seeing Victoria roll her eyes.

“It is an old disagreement. Anyway, it doesn’t matter; Lord Griffiths knows nothing of the life at sea and is in no place to comment any further about it to a man who’s served King and Country without question,” Victoria said haughtily.

‘ _Layers upon layers,’_ Eponine thought even as she gave Claudine a knowing look. “I s’pose then that Mrs. Calamy was also shipmates with your husband, Mrs. Williamson?” she asked after a few moments.

“Yes, and it was dear Victoria who convinced my father to give his permission for me to marry Richard---I mean, Mr. Williamson,” Julia said, blushing at these last words. “He could never say no to the wife of a respectable captain, who was the son also of a naval hero.”

“A hero, but missed by his only child,” Victoria said in an undertone. “Mrs. Williamson, we must make our other calls, and take leave of our guests before we overstay our welcome,” she said more loudly to her friend. 

“You haven’t; you’re welcome to visit as long as we are in residence,” Claudine said amiably. “Please, do not let us be in the way of your plans.”

“Plans that I can change; it’s a fine day to be outdoors and I’m inviting both of you to come along,” Julia pronounced. “It’s a shame to be so dressed up and have so much to talk about, only to end up staying inside all day.”

It was all that Eponine could do to keep a straight face at Victoria’s long-suffering expression from Julia’s cajoling. “Where exactly are we going to?” she asked.

“Hyde Park. It’s wonderful there at this time of the day,” Julia said.

Claudine nodded affably. “I think that Eponine and I can definitely use the time to stretch our legs,” she said. “Excuse me while I get my things.”

Before Eponine could protest, Claudine had already left the room. She sighed as she looked back at Julia and Victoria; the former was giddy while the latter was merely quizzical. ‘ _At least it’s a way to get some fresh air,’_ she decided as she stood up to fetch a white shawl and a straw hat to match her maroon dress. For good measure she also switched out her slippers for her favored pair of boots, regardless of the rather shocked looks the Englishwomen were giving her.

Owing to the sheer number of carriages and other conveyances in the streets, the four women had no choice but to squeeze into the barouche Julia had brought, just to manage the short trip to Hyde Park. As the carriage stopped at a crossroad, Victoria suddenly reached into her small purse and deposited a coin into the outstretched palm of a passing beggar. “It’s the least I could do,” she said to her companions.

“They can go to workhouses,” Julia sniffed. “It’s better than staying out in the cold.”

‘ _But that is not enough for some,’_ Eponine thought, remembering now what she had seen on her first day in London, as well as some reading she had done for the diplomats over the past few days. “I s’pose more people would go to workhouses if they were treated more nicely there,” she said at last. “A bed and a bowl of soup is good, but must they come with a sermon and all the beatings from the wardens?”

“Those workhouses are meant to keep them occupied and promote moral improvement, not become paupers’ hotels,” Julia said. “I’ve heard of the different workshops and street schools that your government has for beggars, but what saving grace is there if they return to the same vice-ridden hovels each day?”

“What then is the difference between an English workhouse and a prison?” Eponine asked.

“We don’t execute people in workhouses,” Victoria said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I will say this though, Mrs. Willamson: Newgate in London is so depraved that it makes La Force in Paris look like a hotel by comparison.”

‘ _There was a time when it was not always so,’_ Eponine thought as she pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. In a few minutes, their carriage had joined the throng of those heading into Hyde Park. Owing to the narrowness of the gate, all the phaetons, barouches, landaus and other conveyances had to form a rather disorderly queue that stretched well into the street.

Julia signaled to her coach’s driver, who promptly alighted to unlatch the carriage doors. “It’s much faster to walk from here, instead of getting all sweaty and cross in the line,” she said as she and her companions alighted. She looped an arm around one of Eponine’s. “I haven’t been to Paris in many years. Mr. Williamson hates going, but I miss it. Is the Luxembourg garden still beautiful at this time of the year?”

“I s’pose; I always like it better in summer,” Eponine replied. She glanced back at where Claudine and Victoria were conversing avidly, perhaps about the greenery in the park if their gestures towards the trees were any indicator. “Could you tell me more about Manchester then?”

“It’s a wonderful town that is going to get bigger; did you know the railway started there first and not in London?” Julia said eagerly. “It’s the place to go if one wants to work in the cotton trade, and that’s what Mr. Williamson is making a project of. But why am I talking business on a lovely day like this? You must think I am a bore!”

“I won’t if you have got interesting stories to tell,” Eponine said. “I don’t think I shall have the time to see Manchester or other parts of England, so I do like to hear about it.”

“And I haven’t been in Paris for years, and I do not know if I should ever go back, so please return the favor!” Julia tightened her grip on Eponine’s arm as they reached a winding promenade that overlooked two avenues; the nearer was covered in sand for the use of people riding on horses, while the more paved one further off was full of open carriages. “Do you go horseback riding, Mrs. Enjolras?” she asked.

Eponine glanced at a group of young ladies riding sidesaddle on the sandy row, getting dust all over their rather voluminous skirts or their more sleekly cut riding habits. “Not often, and definitely not in that fashion,” she said carefully.

Julia’s jaw dropped. “You’ve ridden _astride_?”

The younger woman shrugged nonchalantly. “I s’pose it’s better than practically falling off the poor horse all the time.”

“I cannot imagine,” Julia said, shaking her head as she fanned herself. “Wasn’t your husband displeased at that?”

“Not horrified in the least,” Eponine quipped with a grin. ‘ _And why would he be, if we had to ride fast and sensibly just to get back indoors before the rain came?’_ she mused. The memory of rain hitting her face while hurrying back to the Enjolras family’s house in Aix after a failed picnic had her laughing to herself. “If there was someone who had anything to say to it, it was my mother-in-law!”

Before Julia could come up with a reply, she suddenly turned about and screamed. “Thief! Someone took my purse!”

Eponine quickly caught sight of a woman dashing through the crowd, bonnet strings flying as she nearly knocked over some passersby in her flight. Immediately Eponine took off in pursuit, but instead of going through the promenade she veered off the foot path and jumped into the grass. After a moment she caught sight of the thief disappearing into a line of trees overlooking a sort of pool or river. ‘ _Does she mean to escape by boat?’_ she wondered as she dug her heels into the dirt to keep from losing her footing on the slope.

Suddenly she heard a soft cry followed by the sound of a body hitting the dirt. Eponine jumped behind a bush as she caught sight of a burly fellow leaving the waterfront. He had a dirty handkerchief around his neck, and his old beaver hat showed his close-cropped brown hair, ‘ _A regular con!’_ Eponine realized, seeing this prowler’s club. She waited for him to stalk out of sight before she rushed to see what he had left in the shrubbery.

“Bill? Have you come back?” a woman whimpered from where she was crouched in the dirt. She was holding her face in her hands; a crumpled bonnet and a dirty lace cap knocked onto the ground clearly hinted as to what sort of injury she had just suffered.

“If you’re talking about that mean-looking fellow who just left, I don’t think he is,” Eponine answered boldly. “What did he knock you about for?”

The woman stilled her sobs before looking at Eponine from between her fingers. “You’re a friend of that lady---” she began.

“Just a companion,” Eponine said, grabbing the woman’s wrist to keep her from fleeing. “Have you still got the purse with you?”

“Bill took the lot,” the thief mumbled, using her free hand to pull her dark hair out of her face. She was the sort of woman who seemed built to be stout and hearty, but whose face and frame had gone gaunt due to some recent shock. On closer inspection one could see a fading bruise around one of her eyes. “What would you want it for?”

“Simply to stay out of trouble,” Eponine replied, letting go of the woman. There was clearly no use in asking the thief to turn out her apron pockets or any hiding place on her person. “Then you’re going after that horrible looking fellow once you’ve washed your face a bit?”

The woman smiled bittersweetly before wiping her face with her sleeve. “Maybe his temper will be better after a while,” she said as she got to her feet in turn.

Eponine shook her head. “But what if it isn’t?”

“He can always black the other eye,” the thief replied grimly. “You’d better be on your way before someone sees you here with me!”

As if these words had dispelled a sort of fog, Eponine heard once again the bustle and chatter of the promenade. She saw the despondent woman disappear into the trees nearest the water, with hardly any footfall to betray her location. “Now there’s one who might stay away from being a con if she watches herself!” she muttered before returning to the footpath.

She arrived back to the sight of Victoria and Claudine trying to prop up Julia, who had clearly fainted away at this sudden turn of events. “Any luck?” Claudine asked when she saw her friend.

Eponine shook her head. “I couldn’t get it back.”

“You shouldn’t have gone after her; what if you’d gotten hurt?” Julia managed to say as she held a hand to her own pale cheek.

‘ _Little do you know,’_ Eponine wanted to say as she watched Victoria explain the situation to a policeman standing nearby. Even a few persons along the horseback riding path had stopped to see the commotion. “I s’pose we should get out of this ruckus.”

Julia nodded weakly. “I knew we should have just taken the carriage!” she said as the other women half-carried her out of the promenade. It took some time before they were able to find the barouche among the many others along the carriage drive, and still longer till they were able to depart from Hyde Park.

When Eponine, Claudine and Victoria arrived back at Claridges, Combeferre and the diplomats had also returned and had ensconced themselves back in their rooms on the second floor. “It would appear that Citizen Reynault has had a reversal,” Combeferre informed the women in an undertone when he met them on the stairs.

Eponine bit her lip at the sound of Reynault and Lamarre arguing loudly. “I s’pose I should deal with that,” she said to her friends. “Any news of my brother?”

“Knowing young men, he will be back late tonight and thoroughly exhausted,” Victoria said as she rubbed her brow. “I should lie down; I love Mrs. Williamson dearly but she can be quite taxing to manage!”

Eponine did not deign to comment on this but she headed upstairs, just in time to see Reynault bring Lamarre to the floor with a single punch to the jaw. “Oh goodness! What happened?” she blurted out, jumping back slightly.

“That will teach you to stay within _your_ jurisdiction,” Reynault bellowed at his colleague, who was picking himself up off the floor. The stout diplomat was breathing hard and red in the face even as he looked at Eponine. “You. I need your help with some documents straightaway before Citizen Delaroche loses patience with us entirely,” he said to her rather brusquely.

“What for?”

“We need to translate some of our trade records, to provide good arguments. This would be so much easier if you did not offend Lord Blakeney and his wife!”

Eponine’s jaw dropped. “What does _that_ have to do with going to Parliament?”

“Lord Blakeney is in the House of Lords, and he has refused to extend any help with the free trade talks we need—and Parliament is going on recess until the latter half of May!” Reynault fumed. “Instead of having a man who can help us, we will have to rely on lesser connections.”

“What about someone who is the actual Duke or even Baron of something instead of just another Lord among the very many Lords and nobles?” Eponine asked crossly. “Or someone who is directly a Member of Parliament?”

“Clearly you do not understand English politics!”

“I don’t, if politics involves drawing rooms or gentlemen’s clubs!”

“Not everything is decided in the halls of power; or rather the halls of power are not always where the laws are voted on. The sooner you understand that, Citizenness, the better.”

“Says the man who had never stepped on English soil till last month,” Lamarre chimed in, now rubbing a red mark on his jaw. “I’ve been here a number of times to assist Citizen Delaroche, and I can assure you that there is as much power in the Members as there is in the aristocracy.”

Reynault sneered at him. “Had you been with me today, you would think otherwise.”

Just then a knock sounded on the door. “There’s a visitor downstairs for Mrs. Enjolras,” a nervous looking maidservant said.

Reynault and Lamarre exchanged venomous looks. “I will go with her---” Reynault said, puffing himself up.

“Sir, the caller has requested to see her alone,” the maid said more firmly.

‘ _Who could that be?’_ Eponine wondered as she wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “I don’t s’pose it will be long,” she said more amiably to the maid. “Lead the way.”


	20. Alexandrina

**Chapter 20: Alexandrina**

Eponine was shown to a parlor that was rather larger than the one where she had met the journalist Burrell. Standing alone in this room, with her back to the door, was a short woman whose figure was concealed by a heavy cloak of black satin. The woman did not stir until the maid hurriedly excused herself and shut the door. “I must charge you most solemnly, not to speak of this meeting to anyone,” the stranger said. “My presence here is to be a secret.”

“I will keep the secret,” Eponine said cautiously. “Why is that so?”

The stranger threw back the hood of her cloak before turning around to face her guest. “Now you know,” she said, raising her chin in an imperious manner that had been captured so often in paintings as well as newspapers.

Eponine quickly attempted a curtsey, only to almost knock over a chair. “Your Majesty!”

“Sit down. You aren’t one of my subjects after all,” Queen Victoria said as she went to the largest seat in the room. The firelight brought out the rich color of her brown hair and made her round face seem less regal and more now like that of a girl who was barely twenty-three. For a moment she was silent as she surveyed Eponine. “Do you know why I am here, Mrs. Enjolras?”

Eponine bit her lip on seeing that this monarch had the same intense brown gaze as that of Prince Albert, but what seemed cold and calculating on the man was frank and inquisitive on the woman. ‘ _Perhaps she is of a different sort,’_ she told herself in an effort to stay calm. “I am not sure, Your Majesty,” she said.

“I am here to form an opinion, one of my own,” Queen Victoria said. “I have heard a great deal from the presses, from the different lords and ladies, and even from my Albert, and it would be unfair to simply pass judgment without meeting you in person.”

“And what have you heard, Your Majesty?”

“You are Eponine Enjolras, born as Eponine Thenardier. Despite your colored past, or perhaps because of it, you have made a name for yourself in Paris as the muse and Rose of its _Radicaux_ party. You are a bluestocking and a woman who has made her own living as a translator. Yet you are also a mother, and the wife of one of the most powerful and celebrated men in France. These are difficult to combine in one character.”

“Your Majesty, I doubt I am the most puzzling or contradictory woman in all of Europe, be it past or present,” Eponine quipped.

A slight smile played across the Queen’s lips as she set her white hands on the table in front of her. “In your reading, Mrs. Enjolras, I am sure you are aware of the convoluted history of our nations. Yet while England will lead the world in industry and glory, its people cannot help but look to France for its fashions and modes. However not all trends from France are appropriate for our orderly English society.”

“I suppose, Your Majesty, you might be referring to our politics?”

“The participation of women in your civil proceedings, and their creation of political societies. At best, this is superfluous when women are well provided for, and at worst this is an avenue for massive disorder.”

‘ _She certainly is referring to the harpies at the guillotines,’_ Eponine thought but she pinched herself to be rid of this thought. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, women must be involved in politics to prevent disorder _because_ not all of them are well-provided for,” she said.

“That is the responsibility of their families, specifically their fathers, brothers, husbands, and male kin,” Queen Victoria replied. “There are boundless opportunities for men to be useful and bring in their daily bread for their families.”

“But Your Majesty, not all women are so rich in relations,” Eponine answered. ‘ _Or have any decent sort,’_ the thought occurred to her as for a moment she saw again the unfortunate wretch she had met at Hyde Park. “Such women must make shift for themselves and their children if they have any, and they will do so with such trouble if they are not to be assisted in some way or another.”

“We have churches and charitable efforts; these are not forbidden but even encouraged in our Christian way of life,” Queen Victoria said more sternly. “Charity will do enough to care for these women till they find some safe haven, or if need be set on a more upright path.”

‘ _Would she faint away if I were to speak of what I saw this afternoon?’_ Eponine wondered silently. “If England had a thousand philanthropists, then maybe that would be enough to care for two thousand women in Your Majesty’s realm who have fallen into difficulty. But what of ten or a hundred thousand?”

“We have workhouses, refuges, and many avenues where a woman may find succor. These already exist even without that folly of women’s suffrage.”

“Your Majesty is not in favor of women being given that right?”

The monarch’s brow furrowed. “It is not necessary. Those women you speak of are only a small part of the whole; some would say even superfluous. The majority are under the direction already of the heads of their families.”

Even as Eponine fought against the taste of bile in the back of her throat, she could not help but note the slight faltering in Queen Victoria’s tone. “It would do if they were all of one accord, mind, and heart. But what if that is not the case, Your Majesty?”

“Are you suggesting that for instance, a wife would contradict her own husband?” the Queen asked querulously. “That would be unseemly and even immoral.”

“And why would Your Majesty suppose so?”

“Why would a man, especially one of education and experience, allow himself to be swayed by a woman’s views on matters that are beyond her grasp?”

“Is it really being swayed if he merely considers her opinion, or at least leaves her free to have her own?” Eponine asked, meeting the younger woman’s questioning look. “Your Majesty, I would find it frightful if a husband and wife agreed perfectly with each other on everything.”

“On the opposite extreme there would be discord and enmity, and eventually disorder within the home,” Queen Victoria said firmly. “Would you dare to contradict your own spouse?”

“He’s never had a problem with my telling him if I do not quite agree with something he does or thinks,” Eponine answered. It was all that she could do not to smile too widely on remembering some of her livelier discussions with Enjolras over the years. ‘ _But because he is used all the time to dealing with all sorts of people and their opinions, maybe because he is always so curious, and he isn’t a king who everyone has to grovel with,’_ she mused.

Queen Victoria was also quiet for a few moments, clearly deep in thought. “A man would see that as usurping his headship in the home. He is to lead; the wife is only to advise and guide with her tempering influence, especially over the children.”

“Only? Is that all women are good for?”

“A woman does her best work in the home, to make it a refuge for her husband when he comes back from dealing with the burdens of the day, and to make it a nest for the children as they are being brought up.”

“It would sound like a proper house would do just as well with a housekeeper to make the place clean and a governess or nurse for the children,” Eponine pointed out. “I know this is already done in some of the more well-off households here. Your Majesty, if a family can afford to do so, then what is the role of a wife?”

The queen’s cheeks flushed slightly even as her dark eyes seemed to blaze with indignation. “Her role first and foremost is to be an exemplar of virtue that her children can follow, and that will keep her husband from the vices and sins of the outside world. Besides this she must oversee the household: the expenses, the conduct of her servants, and making it welcome for both her family and their friends. In this manner she is her husband’s helpmate who can give him a safe haven from the tumult of his work, where he may regain his strength for his sake, her sake, and their family."

“Your Majesty, I can only think of _one_ woman of my acquaintance who is even close to that ideal,” Eponine answered, even as the image of her dear friend Cosette came to mind. “Even so, she uses her wit and talents to ease her husband’s worries by helping him with their business matters.”

“Her husband will not earn the esteem of his associates if it is known that his ideas are not original, and stem from his wife even if she is clever.”

“Would those associates be worth doing business with if they will not listen to an idea just because it comes from a woman?”

“That then is more of a question of a man’s judgment,” Queen Victoria said flatly. “Have women in France truly become so wild and contrary?”

“If that means having the good sense to speak out and be useful, then I should say that is a ‘yes’, Your Majesty,” Eponine replied steadily. “I would like to think that Englishwomen are also much the same.”

“They have the good sense to know how to excel in their place,” the queen argued. “That place for women does not include politics.”

“And yet, Your Majesty, you are the queen in your own right?”

“I was born to it. That is something I do not think you French would understand.”

“What does your husband the Prince think of this? I know he was not born in England.”

“He is a good, kind, and very wise man, and one very suited to the task of ruling,” Queen Victoria said. A smile played over her face, as if she had fallen into a reverie. “I consider his advice indispensable to my affairs.”

‘ _Who then is really sitting on the throne of England?’_ Eponine almost said, but she bit her lip at the last moment. “Then Your Majesty is among the luckiest of women, and I suppose you and I are not too different after all,” she finally said.

“That is presumptuous,” the Queen said quickly. “But since you are so bold as to ask me that, then what does your husband think of these views of yours?”

This time Eponine could feel her own smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “He is terribly stubborn and will gladly debate with me for hours over things he believes so strongly in. I am very much the same way too, and we certainly do not always have the same views on things since we did come from different parts of France, he grew up rich and I grew up with nothing, and we do not read the same things. I suppose that makes us evenly matched knowing that we respect each other all the more.”

Queen Victoria nodded slowly, as if turning over these words in her mind. “I cannot imagine how you can live in amity, but I will agree that it suits you.” Her smile was wry, even bittersweet as she stood up. “I wish you well during your remaining time in England, Mrs. Enjolras.”

Eponine stood up in turn. “I do not suppose we shall meet again, Your Majesty.”

“We shall not. Again, I charge you not to speak of this.” The young Queen donned her cloak and pulled its hood over her fair face. “Good night.”

Eponine waited for the Queen’s footsteps to fade, before taking a deep breath and leaving the parlor in turn. She ignored the looks from other lodgers and the concierge as she headed upstairs to her room. In the hallway she found Combeferre and Claudine waiting for her, along with Victoria Calamy and the two diplomats. “There, that’s done,” she said by way of greeting.

“That was rather long for a visit; you were away for at least thirty whole minutes,” Combeferre observed.

“Ah I did not notice.”

Reynault looked at her quizzically. “Who then would want to call on you for so long.”

“A lady named Alexandrina,” Eponine replied quickly, only to see Victoria Calamy’s eyes widen with astonishment. ‘ _It isn’t a lie after all, since I heard that is her given name,’_ she thought with a knowing smile as she entered her own room to retire for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have tried to do the Queen some justice here. After all she was very young and curious, but beginning to buckle under the pressures of royal life and marriage. Hence this take on her.


	21. Deportation and Deportment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for a panic attack here.

**Chapter 21: Deportation and Deportment**

Dawn found Enjolras seated in the sitting room of Belmont’s house, writing feverishly in the dim light. ‘ _What else is one to do when sleepless?’_ he thought as he looked over the letter he had just finished. His penmanship was at least legible, thus at least saving him the trouble of rewriting the missive all over again.

_May 3, 1842_

_Zaragoza, Spain_

_Eponine,_

_As promised, I am writing to let you know we have safely reached the city of Zaragoza. This letter would have been posted a day earlier, were it not for the need to see to a number of pressing matters upon our arrival. Nevertheless, I hope this message finds you in better spirits, or if it be otherwise, that it serves to hearten you somewhat._

_Zaragoza is picturesque enough that only an image from a camera obscura would suffice as description. Even so, its starkness would not compare to the vivid colors you would surely appreciate if you chanced to visit here. Every motif, from the spires on its churches down to the minutiae of a house ornament, bears a mingling of the Moorish with the classical. The river Ebro, where the city is situated, is a far cry from the Seine of Paris but still has a languid air preferred by residents and perhaps by visitors as well. All of this is only from casual observation; we have had little opportunity to see much beyond the confines of Citizen Belmont’s residence. With our schedule here, there may be almost no time to make up for this discrepancy, so I believe what limited description I have offered here should suffice._

_There is little I can write as of this point in time that would be appropriate for something outside a confidential diplomatic dispatch. All that I can say with certainty is that your brother has made some steps to catch up with his correspondence. However, mail from Paris or Aix is bound to be delayed and will certainly not be answered in time. In that case, feel free to send any reassurances to either place that we have not vanished altogether or met some mishap on the road._

_You have said that you do not find England to your tastes. Yet even a country known for its ennui may have events, or have events caused by a sudden change such as your particular presence. I look forward greatly to reading of the effects in your next letter._

_Please post your next letter to the Ambassador’s residence in Madrid. So far it seems as if sending your letters ahead proves to be the most reliable means of maintaining our correspondence._

_Yours always,_

_Antoine_

He had just finished folding and sealing this letter when he heard footsteps on the stairs. “My goodness, _Senor_ Enjolras, why are you awake so early?” Rexina asked as she entered the sitting room. She had with her a feather duster. “Did you sleep at all?”

“I have to finish writing letters before _Senor_ Belmont calls us for more meetings today,” Enjolras said, just managing a cordial smile.

Rexina tutted before proceeding to make a show of dusting off the mantlepiece and the tops of the cabinets. “Last night was a horrid business. I should die of shame if my own girl turned out like that hussy who was in here!” she muttered as she puttered about the room. “I shall have to clean up the mess she left behind, and make sure your shirt is properly darned before you leave Zaragoza. Do you take coffee or chocolate with your breakfast, _Senor?”_

“Coffee. Thank you very much, _Senora_.” Enjolras waited for the housekeeper to quit the room before he sat back on the sofa and shut his eyes in yet another attempt to get some sleep and perhaps a respite from the ache beginning to build behind his eyes. Yet before he could fall thoroughly into slumber, he heard the cadence of Belmont’s footsteps on the stairs, prompting him to sit up and wipe his face with a handkerchief in an attempt to banish his drowsiness.

“My friend, what are you doing down here? Did you get any sleep at all?” Belmont’s booming voice greeted. “I will instruct my servants to put order back into your room immediately.”

“ _Senora_ Torralba already said she would see to it.” Enjolras stood up and handed the letter to Belmont. “Please include this in the mail packet for today. This one goes to England.”

“Of course. There is an important matter that will require at least my going into town,” Belmont said. “It is the deportation of Citizenness Berlioz.”

Enjolras felt his gut twist at the mention of this. “The measures to be taken are clear, are they not?”

“Yes, every embassy has its directives for these sordid affairs. The matter will be placed in the hands of our attaches, who will directly escort the offending party to French soil.” Belmont’s normally jovial expression was grave when he met Enjolras’ eyes again. “That procedure however is very humiliating for the person being deported, not to mention a stain on the record of the embassy with regard to answering for the conduct of our nationals.”

“I take that you would rather not resort to this?” Enjolras asked pointedly.

“For the sake of the lady and her family, I would rather keep this proceeding off our books,” Belmont began cautiously. “Instead of having her be escorted by our attaches, she can be escorted by a member of her family or a guardian. It will take time to make the arrangements to get her to Aix, but it would be far less of an embarrassment.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “What cause would exempt her from being subject to the same laws that cover any other French citizen?”

“She appears to be of good family. They would suffer once this act of momentary imprudence is publicized among our embassies in Europe, Asia, and even in America.”

“I would not call having followed us for several hundred miles from Aix to Zaragoza over a span of a month as an act of momentary imprudence. In addition, such an arrangement would take at least a fortnight to conclude, during which she would have to be housed either at the jail or some designated holding house. That delay is not tenable.”

Belmont sighed deeply. “It is true that you were not made for gallantry, Citizen. But yes, the prolongation of these proceedings is unacceptable especially since she has no passport or papers to properly admit her to Spain. I shall have to make note about this incident to our border patrols.”

‘ _That latter step would be wisest,’_ Enjolras concurred silently even as he could already catch a whiff of freshly brewed coffee in the air. The deep aroma chased away his drowsiness, thus giving him the impetus to freshen up before breakfast. Before long, the rest of the household was as awake and more than eager to partake of the large breakfast that Rexina laid out. Yet unlike yesterday, conversation was scarce; Enjolras’ headache had returned, Belmont was constantly interrupted by Rexina’s puttering in and out with various concerns, none of the Galician delegate Barbosa’s attempts at joviality could elicit more than middling conversation from D’Aramitz, while Jacques seemed fit to console himself by copious consumption of the breakfast offerings.

After this cheerless meal, Belmont and Barbosa quickly left for the center of Zaragoza, while D’Aramitz excused himself to his chamber to work on his own letters. For a moment Enjolras thought of doing the same in order to get some much-needed sleep, but the sight of Rexina headed upstairs brandishing a duster and a large broom quickly abolished this idea. Instead he returned to the sitting room, where Jacques had also retreated with a book.

Jacques looked up from his reading for a moment before hanging his head shame-facedly. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he said in a thick voice. “I really didn’t think that I had to say anything about seeing someone who just looked like I had seen her before.”

Enjolras considered the youngster for a moment. “Is that all there is to the matter?”

Jacques swallowed hard in a clear attempt to compose himself. “I did not want to talk to you because of what happened in Barcelona with Jacinta,” he said. He shook his head sadly. “Why do girls have to do that?”

“Do what exactly?”

“Not say exactly what they mean.”

“It is a fault of many, regardless of sex or circumstance,” Enjolras pointed out. He gritted his teeth when Jacques sighed again. “As you get older, you will find that equivocation is more the norm in conversation,” he added.

“I really thought she loved me. She seemed so earnest,” Jacques mumbled. He glanced towards where someone was passing by the room and reddened on seeing that it was Alionor. The girl also turned pink in the face before hurrying off even as Jacques looked down again. “I don’t think I shall speak to Alionor much either,” he muttered.

“Her mother is very displeased with both your lapses,” Enjolras said more sternly.

“She thought that Alionor was going to run off with me to Paris, and then become something like a can-can dancer,” Jacques said, his cheeks turning even more scarlet. “I have no intentions of that sort towards _anyone_.”

“And I would be disappointed with you if that were so,” Enjolras said.

Jacques nodded slowly. “Are you going to send me back to Aix?”

“As I said before, you have opportunities to improve,” Enjolras replied, looking intently at the boy. “I trust this has been a hard lesson to learn for you, Jacques.”

“But what of Citizenness Berlioz? She will have to go back to France?”

“Citizen Belmont will see to that.”

Jacques swallowed hard once more. “I would say she has a lesson or two to learn too.”

‘ _One which she may not be willing to,’_ Enjolras could not help thinking. After a while, as Jacques returned to his reading, Enjolras felt a much-needed lassitude slowly catch up with him such that he had to close his eyes. Before he knew it, Rexina had bustled back into the sitting room to inform them that luncheon was being served and that it was past one in the afternoon. The rest of the day passed with relative languor, with the occupants of the house being left to their own devices up until Belmont returned to the house.

“ _Senor_ Barbosa will be rejoining us when we meet with his counterparts from here in Aragon as well as Cantabria,” Belmont said wearily. “For now, he will rest in town, while we will rest here.”

“When will that meeting be?” Enjolras asked, even as he saw out of the corner of his eye how Jacques cringed while D’Aramitz remained impassive.

“Tomorrow at the earliest,” Belmont said. “I would not be in such a hurry; it will be an arduous three to four days from here to Madrid. Besides, I also need time to find someone to properly see Citizenness Berlioz back to France,” he added, shaking his head with dismay.

“It is a shame that she cannot simply be escorted by the Zaragoza city guard, then turned over to the border guard at France,” D’Aramitz mused ruefully. “That would save us the trouble of designating a man from the embassy to personally escort her.”

Belmont nodded despondently. “In this case border guard may also pose a problem; there is no way of ensuring they will not cause her harm. This fits in with the problem of smuggling to and from Navarre, and now has to be taken up with the _cortes_ when we get to Madrid as part of a new cooperation between our governments.”

‘ _Goods and persons may be stopped from physically passing, but not ideas or sentiments,’_ Enjolras thought, recalling his various discussions with Pasqual and Arriola back in Barcelona. These played on his mind all throughout dinner, all the way up to the time when everyone retired to their own rooms without even any attempt or invitation to linger in the sitting room after supper for reading or conversation.

When Enjolras returned to his room he found all had been set back to order, almost the way it had been when he first arrived there the day before. “Which is just as well,” he told himself as he undressed for bed. The slight unease that had weighed on him all day did not abate even now; in fact, it only seemed to heighten somewhat even as he lay down in bed. ‘ _Probably just getting used to actually sleeping here,’_ he decided as he blew out the candle.

The screen had been dragged across the window in such a way that virtually all light from outside was blocked out; in this pitch blackness Enjolras could hear every heartbeat and intake of breath. Lying still only made him feel as if something cold and clammy was creeping up his limbs, and he had to will them to move with increasing difficulty. The darkness soon felt like a heavy weight on his chest, prompting him to sit up in bed and fumble for the candle at the bedside. Even as he caught his breath, he could feel his heart pounding so hard. ‘ _This room is suffocating,’_ he thought as he finally found the candle and lit it with trembling fingers.

After several seemingly interminable minutes, Enjolras got up and moved the screen away from the window such that he had a good view of the dim lights on the Ebro. The feel of cold sweat soaking his shirt was so oppressive that he decided to do without the garment entirely. For good measure he found a plush chair in the room and dragged it out near the window but made sure to keep it as far from the bed as possible. ‘ _At least this is a bit better than sleeping downstairs once again,’_ he told himself resolutely as he blew out the candle and sat down in the chair in hopes of chasing some slumber.


	22. Unstoppable Forces

**Chapter 22: Unstoppable Ideas**

_April 19, 1842_

_Rue de Conde, Paris_

_Dear brother,_

_Jehan and I are very happy to have gotten your letter, and to hear such good news. Neither of us knew that even as far as Spain, his works were receiving so much praise. It was definitely worth our while to learn more about Cervantes and his Don Quixote. I think that from now on Jehan will be more enthusiastic about putting in something of the Spanish into his work, even if he has yet to learn the language as well as you and Jacques do._

_Please also tell Citizen Belmont that we are so thankful for the gift he sent us. If you were all back in Paris, you would be among the first to see the amazing designs that I have made for Jehan’s next play. That “Barrio Gotic” was precisely what we needed. Since you will not be back here for many weeks, I am sending along a drawing of my own so you can see what we have been up to. Jehan insists that you show it to Citizen Belmont._

_Maximillien wishes you and Jacques well, and hopes that you will all soon be home. So do Jehan and I, for we miss you greatly. It is sometimes difficult to go by the Rue Guisarde and remember that none of you are in residence now. Gavroche has been busy with some case, and he is not being very amusing lately._

_Your sister in all but blood,_

_Azelma_

This letter accompanied an elaborate sketch of the Odeon’s stage depicting several levels of a lofty tower against a sweeping coastal landscape. What was unusual about this design was how it extended beyond the usual limits of the stage onto several platforms meant to evoke precarious ledges jutting out into the audience. ‘ _A ground-breaking sensation for some, a ruckus for others,’_ Enjolras mused, remembering clearly what had happened to Courfeyrac, Jehan, Bahorel, Joly, Bossuet, and Grantaire when they had watched “Hernani” one misguided evening eleven years ago. 

He carefully folded up this letter and placed it in his baggage along with several other messages that had arrived from France earlier that day, the 5th of May. Just as he did so, he heard a knock on the door. “Come in,” he called absent-mindedly.

“ _Senor_ Enjolras, I have the shirt you needed repaired,” Rexina shouted from outside.

Enjolras quickly opened the door, only to have the housekeeper eagerly pass the newly darned garment to him. Somehow the once familiar sensation of this particular linen now felt loathsome between his fingers. “Thank you. I will find some way to repay you for your trouble,” he said steadily.

“It’s hospitality; _Senor_ Belmont never likes his guests to go without,” Rexina said warmly. “It is a pity that you’re all leaving Zaragoza tomorrow!”

“We are urgently expected in Madrid. Once again, thank you for this,” Enjolras pointed out. As soon as Rexina had left and her footsteps faded out of earshot, he swiftly put the shirt in his baggage, putting it towards the bottom of his pile of clean clothes. ‘ _Hopefully I will not need it soon,’_ he thought as he pocketed the sketch that Azelma had sent him.

When he arrived downstairs, he was welcomed by the peculiar sight of D’Aramitz watching with a bored expression while Alionor paced the room, throwing things into baskets while weeping loudly. Jacques was also in tears as he followed the girl around. “What is going on here?” Enjolras asked, glancing from the two young people to D’Aramitz.

“ _Senora_ Torralba will be sending her daughter to a nunnery, tomorrow,” D’Aramitz said, bringing out another cigar. “On account of the events of the past few days.”

Jacques’ face was anguished as he looked at Enjolras. “Citizen Belmont is talking to her right now. She will not see me, but is there anything you can possibly tell her? It was partly my fault after all,” he beseeched.

‘ _A nunnery sounds like the last recourse of the desperate,’_ Enjolras thought as he went to search for Belmont and Rexina. It was not difficult to locate them, owing to the rather raised volume of their argument outside in the garden. Through a window he saw Rexina haranguing Belmont as she paced the garden and wrung her hands. Belmont was leaning against a wall, and regarding his housekeeper with a look that was equal parts guilt and alarm.

Almost immediately, Belmont caught sight of Enjolras. “My friend, please help me plead young Citizen Thenardier’s case. I was telling _Senora_ Torralba that he meant no ill intent to her daughter or her prospects,” the ambassador said hurriedly in French.

Enjolras calmly stepped outdoors and nodded to Belmont as well as to Rexina. “Good afternoon. What seems to be the problem?” he asked calmly in Spanish.

Rexina wheeled on him. “You should know! That _rascal_ has made my girl wild! Now she’s talking about asking him to bring her to Paris!” she screeched.

“You already know that it is impossible for her,” Enjolras pointed out. “My brother-in-law apologizes for his behavior towards her.”

“He’s a perfect gentleman, but it’s what he’s gotten her to think that is the problem,” the housekeeper fumed.

“Your daughter is aware that we are going to Madrid?”

Rexina threw up her hands. “Even he has told her so, but she will not get that idea out of her head. I was telling _Senor_ Belmont that I have tried to keep her with me these past years, to make sure she will eventually get a good situation like mine, but this is the last straw!”

“Is a convent the best option then?”

“It is the _only_ option I have left. I cannot have her stay with me when she insists on acting without discretion for our station.”

Belmont cleared his throat. “Perhaps a change in her routines----”

Rexina shook her head. “You have been too lenient with her. I am her mother, and I will make sure she will be spared from perdition!”

The ambassador sighed as he stepped aside to let Rexina pass into the house. “I do not normally wish to interfere in how she raises her daughter, but I will admit that _Senorita_ Torralba has not been the best behaved of girls her age,” he muttered.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “That is a very relative statement.”

“Expectations for Spanish girls are very different from French girls; you have seen that much with the case of young _Senorita_ Maria Jacinta Pasqual, who is as you know of the very marriageable age and acts as such,” Belmont pointed out “ _Senorita_ Maria Alionor is older, already sixteen, and still with no offers. There is a reason for that apart from her continually being under her mother’s tutelage here.”

Enjolras nodded, knowing better than to pry further. “But an outdated institution such as a Spanish convent?”

“There is also the worry of securing that girl’s future. With a wild reputation there is no hope of her getting respectable employment or finding a match appropriate to her station. Inasmuch as I disapprove, I must respect _Senora_ Torralba’s actions for her daughter,” Belmont said. He sighed as he looked again at his guest. “Thank you for intervening at least on the boy’s behalf. Clearly, he is almost like a son to you.”

“He was very young when he came into his sister’s care, and as a matter of course mine,” Enjolras said. He brought out the sketch sent to him. “Citizen and Citizenness Prouvaire send their thanks for the pictures.”

Belmont’s eyes widened with astonishment at the art set before him. “Such inspiration! Citizen Prouvaire truly has the artist’s eye!”

“The script and verses are his, but the sets and costumes are from Citizenness Prouvaire’s own pen and vision.”

“I didn’t know she had such talent. Well if she can make such a wonder from Barcelona, imagine what she would make out of here in Zaragoza, or even of the landscapes of Andalucia!”

‘ _Perhaps we ought to find a way to send pictures back to her,’_ Enjolras thought, remembering now that they would not be heading further south than Valencia, their port of exit towards Italy. He glanced down at the sketch that Belmont returned to him, wishing not for the first time in several years that he had the same skill with the brush and pen that Eponine, Azelma, Feuilly, and many others of their circle possessed. _‘Yet even these renderings do not do justice to seeing the actual article with one’s waking eyes.’_

Belmont had once again fallen into a reverie. “I have no choice but to ask poor D’Aramitz to accompany Citizenness Berlioz back to France. She is from Aix, if I recall?”

“That she is.”

“So much the easier; he will not have to go too far out of his way. But we shall have to do without him for the remainder of our time here, since he will have to proceed to Paris to report this incident, as well as deliver our preliminary findings. Your command of Spanish will suffice, I hope?”

“It will have to do,” Enjolras said, already resolving to do some further study when the opportunity allowed. He turned at the sound of footsteps from inside the house. “What is it, Jacques?” he asked.

“A letter from Barcelona, from _Senor_ Pasqual,” Jacques said, handing it to Belmont.

“Why it’s only been a few days since we last saw him!” Belmont exclaimed. His jovial expression fell when he saw the letter’s contents. “Arriola is dead. Found murdered in the street at La Barceloneta.”

“Did they find the perpetrator?” Enjolras asked.

Belmont shrugged. “Pasqual did not say in his letter. Perhaps it is under investigation.” His brow furrowed as he read the letter once more. “Arriola had many enemies, but he was good at evading them.”

‘ _Perhaps the hand is the same that ordered the death of Citizen Gaz,’_ Enjolras noted silently. “I have good reason to believe we should raise this to the _cortes_ when we get to Madrid,” he said after a moment.

“Have you gone mad? You know how the _cortes_ and even Espartero himself both feel about the northern territories. And we already have much to propose from the traders we met with yesterday from Aragon and Cantabria.”

“Important as this is, matters may take a more serious import if it is reported that a renowned Spanish citizen was found dead, and not of natural causes. You and I know as well that the antipathy is mutual between some parts of the north and the central government.”

“Precisely my fear, but the _cortes_ will treat Arriola’s death with little concern, what with everything else that concerns the region.” Belmont shook his head as he pocketed the missive. “Unless you are suspecting something?”

“Arriola was part of a very specific movement that has been facing suppression from Madrid. His life will certainly not have been the first to be lost in its cause,” Enjolras reminded him. “More likely his demise will be regarded as an enemy or nuisance eliminated.”

Belmont shook his head grimly. “Correct as that is, our hands are tied on this problem. Pasqual is on his own here; we cannot extend any assistance to him other than condolences and a warning to keep his head low. I will send a reply to him right away, then speak to D’Aramitz about his sudden errand.”

Enjolras waited for Belmont to head indoors first, then went upstairs in turn to his own room. Seeing that the sun was slowly reaching his setting, he opted instead to bring downstairs some materials for his correspondence. ‘ _The better to do some reading between letters,’_ he decided, meaning now to situate himself near Belmont’s small collection of Spanish books in the sitting room.

There was much to reply to; apart from Azelma’s letter, there was also a lengthy one from Courfeyrac that passed on some greetings from Feuilly, as well as a plethora of shorter messages from Gavroche as well as the Bahorels, the Jolys, and the Grantaires detailing various goings-on in the Latin Quartier. Bossuet’s own message was a little longer than these, for it also enclosed some regards from Marius Pontmercy and his household. In addition to these was a voluminous packet from Aix containing florid letters from his parents, and shorter but nonetheless amusing messages from Laure and Julien. Somehow, Combeferre’s latest message from England had gotten mixed up in this packet too, clearly having been forwarded from England and sorted out with some trouble. ‘ _With such trouble, it is no wonder that Feuilly chooses to convey his regards secondhand via Paris, instead of sending directly from Poland,’_ Enjolras noted as he began to write.

In the middle of his work he heard footsteps mingled with muffled whispers from the hallway. After a moment, a high-pitched giggle pierced the quiet, followed by still lighter footsteps fleeing away. Enjolras set down his pen and ventured out just in time to see Jacques standing rather still in the middle of the room. The boy was utterly silent, and a deep blush suffused his cheeks. “Jacques, what was that about?” Enjolras asked.

Jacques quickly blinked and for a moment a sheepish, yet wondrous smile crossed his face before he ducked his head. “Alionor, she….”

Enjolras sighed, knowing these signs all too well. He held open the door to the sitting room. “Look sharp. You’d better step inside before _Senora_ Torralba sees you.”


	23. What the East Wind Brings

**Chapter 23: What the East Wind Brings**

_May 4, 1842_

_72 Piccadilly, London, England_

_My dearest Antoine,_

_I am forwarding this letter to Madrid to meet you there, even as I am waiting for your word that you have arrived in Zaragoza safely. I have posted a message to Zaragoza all the same, and I hope that you will find it in time, or that it gets forwarded to Madrid too. I know that is very possible you will be in Madrid long before this letter even arrives in Spain. When will anyone ever invent a faster way to get any sort of message across several hundred miles? Maybe I should ask Combeferre and Claudine if that can be one of the next projects to propose to the Academy in Paris or even the Royal Society in England._

_I really hope you are doing well there in Madrid. I know all too well how you can be when there is much you have to work on and in a big country such as Spain the tasks are surely close to endless. Do you still find time to sleep even just a little? I try to get some rest even with my work, but I had a troubled dream a night or two ago. I cannot really remember what it was, only that it was tugging at my mind as I awoke in the middle of the dark. I felt such dread and cold, like nothing I can quite describe even now. I sat by the fire in my room, trying to remember how you would warm my hands by letting me hold yours, or sometimes a cup of coffee._

_It’s warmer in Spain, I hear. I hope you will not have such problems._

_We have removed from Claridges to the Calamys’ residence in Piccadilly. I know it is surprising, but we do not have much of a choice. I am sure you find this oddly amusing but I must remind you that I am not bosom friends or confidantes with Citizenness Calamy, she is only an ally as you might say. Citizen Delaroche insists on economizing for a variety of reasons, more so since Claudine, Combeferre, and Neville have so successfully finished their presentation. I missed seeing it because of an appointment suddenly made with the Prince Albert. It went as successfully as you can imagine any sort of progressive discussion with a royal holding on to a title would go._

_Even with that out of the way, we still have much to do here in England, and I do not expect we will see success until June since the Parliament has gone on a temporary recess. I find it silly of them to do so, and I have not been able to find out why they do this every year in the middle of their Season._

_Please write back soon, and let me know where I should send my next message since I know you will be leaving Madrid by the end of May. I find your letters do much to ease the occasional ennui that comes over our days._

_With all my love,_

_Eponine_

Eponine had made sure to post this letter via the morning’s diplomatic packet even before settling in properly at the Calamys’ residence in Piccadilly. Now that it was late afternoon, the tumult of their party’s sudden move now made its full weight known. “Goodness what a complication this will be,” she told herself as she looked out on the rainy street. “But I s’pose once everyone gets used to sending mail and business here, it should come out fine.”

She put her hands akimbo as she looked around the small suite given to her on the third floor of this old townhouse. While it was a good deal smaller than her accommodations at Claridge’s had been, the place was warm and well fitted up with carved hardwood furniture softened by curtains of heavy blue brocade and equally weighty velvet the color of violent sapphires. It was just as what one would expect from a guest room, albeit one rarely used. ‘ _I miss a lighter sort of blue though,’_ she found herself thinking as she lit more candles in an attempt to banish the gloom.

Just as she was shaking out her dresses and arranging them inside an ornate armoire, she heard footsteps and muffled arguing from elsewhere on the floor. Eponine peered out of her room just in time to see Reynault storm into his room and slam the door so hard that the walls shook. “Does Citizen Reynault mean to take that off its hinges?” she asked Lamarre, who was standing in the candle-lit hall and rubbing his temples.

“If he does, he’d better pay Citizenness Calamy for it,” Lamarre snapped. “He has the gall to blame _me_ for why Citizen Delaroche has decided to reduce our funding!”

“If you had handled your portfolio better, we would not be in disgrace!” Reynault hollered from inside his room.

“I was not the one who stumbled over my meeting with the Lords!” Lamarre retorted. “Or more specifically Lord Blakeney, but let us not mention that here,” he added in an undertone before returning to his own quarters, which were across from the linen closet and a bathroom.

Eponine rolled her eyes before going to knock on another guest room door. “Neville, how are you doing in there?” she asked.

“Just fixing my collections,” Neville said. “Is dinner ready yet?”

“Haven’t heard any word of it yet,” Eponine replied.

Neville opened the bedroom door and peered out; his hair was standing every which way and he was in shirt sleeves owing to moving things around. “Are you well, Ponine?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Well you’ve been in the room most of the day, except when you ran to drop off a letter to be posted.”

Eponine shrugged. “I didn’t want to get in the way of everyone settling in here, and besides, I like having time to think,” she said with a smile.

Neville nodded skeptically. “You know, if you don’t have to be here anymore in London, we can go back to Paris or go to Aix. I am sure that Combeferre would understand if I said I would go to bring you back home.”

“I’m not done with work here yet; I don’t know what it is exactly but I know I am needed here. I’ll be fine, Neville, really,” Eponine reasoned. She waited for her brother to nod once again and close the door before she turned away. ‘ _How nice it would be to be that young again and not have to worry about much besides eating and reading,’_ she thought before going back to her room to grab a shawl, and then heading downstairs.

On the second floor were a master’s suite, an equally large suite for guests, and another bathroom. Eponine knew better than to knock on the guest suite now occupied by the Combeferres, and she certainly did not want to intrude on Victoria’s own sanctum, so she hurried down to the first floor. Over here were the public rooms of the house such as the drawing room, the dining room, a small library, and a door leading to a room facing east that Victoria had referred to off-handedly as her ‘morning room’. ‘ _Is this just another name for the not so formal sitting room?’_ Eponine wondered as she stopped before this door.

“I see you’ve found my favorite present,” Victoria said, suddenly making her appearance in the corridor. Even in her own home she still seemed to retain the habit of dressing elegantly for dinner, albeit in a simpler version of the blue dresses she was so fond of wearing at Claridge’s. “When we first bought this house, it did not have a morning room. Peter---I mean, Mr. Calamy had it built for me as a birthday gift,” she continued fondly as she unlocked the door.

Eponine followed Victoria into a sitting room which featured large windows akin to that of a captain’s cabin at the stern of the ship. Compared to the rest of the house, which felt darker and more formal than anything else, the décor here was airier and brighter. White lace curtains hung in the windows, the couches and seats were covered in soft blue satin, and small vases with silver floral detail held fresh flowers in the corners and on each table. “It’s very pretty,” Eponine noted.

“You should see it in the morning,” Victoria said with a proud smile as she took a seat on a large sofa. “This is the best place to receive company by day, but at night the drawing room is much more convenient. I heard though that morning rooms still are not catching on in France?”

“We like to have gardens and spaces where we can; if I was to have a morning room at my own home, I’d have to get rid of the lovely old tree at the back garden,” Eponine pointed out as she also took a seat.

“I see. So where do you receive company at home?”

“In the sitting room, where everyone goes. I don’t see why one would need two reception rooms for a single house.”

“To allow the ladies and gentlemen to have their own spaces. It doesn’t do to expose ladies of certain sensibilities to gentlemen’s talk,” Victoria pointed out. “Even when in close quarters such as at sea, we try to maintain these proprieties.”

“You mean you were not the only woman who sailed aboard the English navy ships?” Eponine asked.

“Many of them were family of officers; some such as the gunner or the bosun are also accorded the privilege of bringing family on board since their service is exclusively tied to the ship and not to a commission. Some other women were also passengers allowed on board by the permission of the Admiralty,” Victoria explained. “And of there are other women who are brought on board more covertly.”

Eponine managed a smile. “And what did Admiral Calamy have to say about that?”

“I was sailing with the permission of the Admiralty, so he could not protest it. Not even Admiral, then Captain Aubrey, could say anything,” Victoria said. Her face grew a little wry as she looked down. “It’s been a few years since he’s passed. The only friend from those days who his widow still keeps in touch with is Dr. Maturin.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Eponine said. “I think he was more than just any other swell from the Navy?”

“A seafarer who was second to none, a captain who not only commanded but led, and was a father to his men,” Victoria replied, smiling slightly. “My husband was only twelve when he lost his own father at sea. Captain Aubrey practically took him in as a son after, reared and trained him from command to command until he was able to pass the exam for lieutenant. He sailed with Captain Aubrey for two years till he was given a command of his own, and the Captain became an Admiral.”

“Was that when you bought this house?”

“We purchased this house when he was still a lieutenant. We had quite a lot of prize-money after the HMS Surprise, one of Captain Aubrey’s finest commands, captured the privateer Acheron that was preying on the English whaling fleet in the Galapagos.”

‘ _No doubt one of the French, to fund the Emperor’s war,’_ Eponine could not help thinking. “That must have been one very lucky pirate indeed.”

“The whaling fleets always bring back cargo of great value; aside from the spermaceti for oil, there is the ambergris which is used in perfumes and other cosmetics. A privateer preying unopposed on whalers can bring back a king’s ransom,” Victoria said. “There are other rich trading routes through the Mediterranean to reach the Ottomans, or the other route round Africa and all the way through to India, but those are preyed upon by pirates of all sorts.”

The mention of pirates sent a shudder down Eponine’s spine even as she heard more footsteps coming from upstairs. “I s’pose that is everyone now looking for their dinner,” she mused.

“The cook will ring a bell once it is ready, but I will have the drawing room warmed up for everyone to wait in,” Victoria said as she got to her feet. “This room is no good for anyone with the east wind,” she added on seeing Eponine’s perplexed expression.

‘ _These funny English,’_ Eponine thought even as she stood up. Suddenly a question occurred to her, one that she would not have dared to ask if the rest of their group was around. “You never mentioned, Mrs. Calamy, how you and the Admiral met,” she said.

Victoria turned with an amused smile. “Why would you want to know?”

“I like to know stories, and I think this is a good one,” Eponine replied boldly.

Victoria nodded slowly. “He was thirteen, and so was I. We met in Gibraltar, where he had gone for news of his father, and where I had gone to see mine. If we are to be so familiar, Mrs. Enjolras, then how did you and your husband meet?”

“I wouldn’t remember the first time I ever saw him or knew of him; we were in the same neighborhood for a time and I am pretty sure I saw him in the company of his friends or making speeches at the Place du Pantheon,” Eponine said. Those days of desperate living in the slums seemed so far away, but the sight of raucous and brilliant students in the Latin Quartier was very easy to remember. “But I remember the first time I actually spoke to him,” she added.

“Which was?”

“I was seventeen, he couldn’t have been more than twenty-six during the revolution. He carried me out of the barricade, where I was wounded.”

Victoria’s eyes widened as she subtly gestured to Eponine’s left hand, which even now was covered by a lace glove. “Is that what it is?”

“A souvenir and a lesson to always have a good reason for being someplace,” Eponine replied. ‘ _Though I still have yet to figure out what other good reason would keep me here in England, when upstairs they are still squabbling,’_ she thought as she and Victoria left the morning room.

Within the hour a sumptuous table had been spread, with a course of hearty stew followed by roasted fish, stuffed fowl, a salad, and a selection of custards for dessert. Yet conversation was middling, despite all attempts by Claudine and Combeferre to break the ice. ‘ _One sour man at supper is bad enough, but two is terrible,’_ Eponine decided, seeing how Lamarre and Reynault spent the meal glaring at each other, or at everyone else seated at the table.

“Should we withdraw to the drawing room?” Claudine asked Eponine in an undertone as coffee was carried through towards the close of the meal.

“And leave the men to it? I don’t think that is wise,” Eponine remarked.

“Francois and Neville have that in hand,” Claudine said confidently, glancing at her husband and his protégé seated nearby. “And if Citizens Reynault and Lamarre have it out, then that might be the end of the matter.”

“The problem is they’ve been having it out for some days, with no proper conclusion in sight!” Eponine whispered. “If they will be this way till Parliament reconvenes, then we have to spend all day at calls and promenades without them or we will go mad.”

Victoria, who was seated at the head of the table, rose and made a motion with her graceful hands. “Ladies, you may go to the drawing room if you wish. As for me, I have had a long day with our move here, and I will get some rest. Good night, everyone,” she said.

Combeferre set down his cup of coffee before looking at Claudine. “I will join you shortly; there are matters we just have to discuss,” he said confidentially.

Claudine nodded before half-dragging Eponine out of the dining room. “We mustn’t hear what they will do,” she said conspiratorially.

“What exactly is Combeferre planning to do?” Eponine asked, taking her friend’s arm.

“To ply them with good conversation, and keep the spirits flowing just enough to provoke a resolution,” Claudine said sagely. “It is good for us that they are not as prone to intoxicated tangents the way that Grantaire is, and they are not likely to propose adventures the way Bahorel and your brother-in-law Jehan have done before.”

“Can he really calculate it so?”

“Not exactly; you know how inexact Medicine is, but it is a risk we have to take if we are to survive the next few weeks in peace.”

Eponine smirked at this rather unconventional scheme. “Do you really intend to go into the drawing room like Mrs. Calamy suggested?”

“Not at all. It will be an invitation for them to move there and disturb me from reading or playing music,” Claudine said. “I will simply wait for Francois up in our suite. And you?”

“I s’pose I should follow Mrs. Calamy’s lead and retire to my own room, for tonight I have no one to wait for,” Eponine quipped. She laughed as she ran upstairs, knowing all too well the aghast look that surely was now on Claudine’s face. By this time, the servants had just finished firing up the woodstoves in each room as part of the effort to drive away the chill brought by the still persistent rain. The renewed warmth brought a smile to Eponine’s face as she took off her lace gloves to rub her hands for a few moments before undressing for bed.

Eponine soon found that her bed in this guest room was similar to what she had in Claridge’s in the sense that it felt too big. ‘ _I know how to manage with a too-small bed, but not with one that I must feel like something could slip into when I am not looking,’_ the thought occurred to her. She got up and drew the curtains fast against the howling storm outside. Having done this, she moved to lie in the middle of the bed, in sight of the flames crackling in the stove.

She did not know when her eyes had closed, only that when she opened them the room had been plunged into darkness. ‘ _I forgot to put out the candles earlier,’_ she realized as she looked around the room. The rain had not yet let up, but it was all that Eponine could do not to get out of bed if only to make sure it wasn’t flooding outside. ‘ _It won’t be such a mess here in Piccadilly; it’s the East Side that is worrisome,’_ she told herself.

Just as she closed her eyes she heard the unmistakable sound of a thump from downstairs. ‘ _What a heavy hand that is!’_ she realized as she heard two more thumps, the last sounding more frantic. She quickly got out of bed and made for the small box in her luggage where she kept the two pistols she had brought from France. Taking only one of these, she quietly slipped out of her room and downstairs to the first storey, where the sounds were growing louder.

Just as she got to the stairway she saw the knob on the front door rattle as if somebody was fumbling with a key. ‘ _Probably a skeleton key,’_ Eponine thought as she crouched on a step, readying to fire a warning shot or flee upstairs. Her hand shook as she caught sight of a dark-clad figure half-stumble into the house, shivering with cold. “Who’s there?” she called.

The newcomer halted and looked in her general direction. “What, who are _you?”_ a voice hoarse with cold asked. “Where is Victoria?”

‘ _Who could be asking for her at this late hour?’_ Eponine wondered as she ran back up to the second storey. She knocked three times on the door of Victoria’s suite. “Mrs. Calamy! Someone’s let himself in downstairs!” she called. She turned and shrieked on seeing that the stranger she had left in the foyer was now just behind her. “Not another step!” she shouted.

“This is my house, you silly girl, and who on earth are you?” the stranger asked, raising a hand as if to strike her.

“It’s already almost midnight---what is going on here?” Victoria asked, eyes going wide at the sight of Eponine pointing a gun at this newcomer. She had with her a candle, which she held up to the stranger. “Peter?!”

“Yes it’s me.” Admiral Peter Miles Calamy’s eyes were dark with anger as he took off his sodden greatcoat. He glanced confusedly from his wife to their houseguest. “And this requires some explanation, ladies. I’m not accustomed to an armed reception at my own home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I took liberties with the "Master and Commander" canon. Big liberties.


	24. News and Messages Intercepted

**Chapter 24: News and Messages Intercepted**

The last time that Eponine had seen Admiral Calamy had been at a salon at the Rue de Bac some ten years ago, but it had not been the best opportunity for a proper introduction. ‘ _Now we get an introduction but in the worst way possible,’_ Eponine mused as she sipped cautiously from a cup of tea that Victoria had prepared. It had been a good hour since the Admiral’s unexpected arrival, which was just enough time for the general commotion to die down, and for Victoria to get some tea set up in the drawing room for them as well as the Combeferres, who had insisted on staying up.

“Why is it that everyone was asleep?” Admiral Calamy asked as he set down his own cup. He had changed out of his sodden travelling clothes into a clean set of shirt and trousers, with a dressing gown thrown over everything for the sake of warmth. Now that he was out of the rain, some color had returned to his usually ruddy complexion. “I said in my last letter that I would be home at around this time of the month.”

“I never received that letter---or any letter for that matter,” Victoria said. “I was continually asking even at the Admiralty, but nothing was forthcoming.”

“That would explain a great deal,” the Admiral said more pensively. “You took guests in though, without informing me?”

“A new development; everyone was originally at Claridge’s until Parliament went on recess,” Victoria answered. “Dr. Francois Combeferre and his wife Claudine are guests of Dr. Maturin and the Royal Society. Mrs. Eponine Enjolras is working with the French embassy as a translator. We have two French attaches staying upstairs namely Mr. Reynault and Mr. Lamarre, as well as Mrs. Enjolras’ brother Neville Thenardier, who is working with the Combeferres.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Combeferre said congenially as he and then Claudine shook the Admiral’s hand. “We apologize for the inconvenience of our sudden arrival.”

“You may stay as long as you need, provided that no one starts pointing pistols at each other here,” Admiral Calamy said, looking pointedly at Eponine.

Eponine cringed but willed herself to sit up straight. In the light she could better study the Englishman’s features; his brown hair was lined through with some grey and his features were somewhat hardened by sailing but it was clear that he had been handsome or even dashing in his youth. “I am very sorry for that fright, Admiral Calamy. I thought the house was being burgled since there was no bell or anything,” she said.

“The last time anyone attempted to burgle this place, they broke the _window_ ,” Admiral Calamy pointed out. “Is it now the fashion to sleep with a pistol under one’s pillow?”

“Peter, _please_ ,” Victoria muttered. “I swear, we should have been better prepared, if not for the problem with the mail---”

“I will get to that, but I think you have other news to tell if suddenly we have French lodgers from unusual circumstances,” Admiral Calamy said, raising his cup of tea.

Victoria sighed deeply as she began refilling his cup. “I wrote to you about it, but it is worth mentioning again: we’ve had a falling out with the Blakeneys, over another awful trick played by Lord Griffiths,” she said.

Admiral Calamy gritted his teeth. “What did he do this time?”

“Made a disreputable pass at a guest at the Blakeneys’ latest ball.”

“He’s a known rake, but what in particular caused the falling out?”

Eponine took a long sip of her tea before looking at both Calamys. “It had to do with me. I put him in his place well enough, but he turned the story about and said I tried to rob him, which is absolutely ridiculous,” she admitted. “That being said, I s’pose I can’t blame Lady Blakeney for siding with him.”

“It was mostly Susan’s doing, but you know William and how he is with friends such as Lord Griffiths,” Victoria said to her husband.

Admiral Calamy’s brow furrowed. “Perhaps I should call on William tomorrow and remind him what an officer and a gentleman ought to stand on,” he muttered.

“He’s had weeks to change his opinion, what makes you think it will suddenly turn around if you talk to him?” Victoria asked.

“Reminding him that apart from being a Lord, he was an officer and should still be a gentleman,” Admiral Calamy muttered. “Are there other matters of society and gossip that you need to have me set straight?”

“Those are not waters that you are used to navigating, so I would rather hear about why you are back in London all of a sudden,” Victoria said firmly. “Does the Admiralty know of this?”

“I was recalled here to submit a report on goings-on in the Mediterranean, particularly on privateers preying on our trade routes there,” the Admiral replied.

“Privateers? From where?”

“Sailing under an Italian flag in one case, and false colors in others.”

The mention of Italy made Eponine sit up straight, even as she saw Combeferre and Claudine exchange worried looks. “A privateer is just meant to attack _one_ sort of ship or anything that is not of its flag?” she asked.

“Usually only one, but that truly depends on their orders or their letter of marque,” Victoria explained. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing, I was only curious,” Eponine said, not meeting Victoria’s eyes.

Victoria only nodded before looking back at the Admiral. “That does not explain the delay with your letters.”

“Or with yours.” The Admiral shook his head. “The wind, the tide, and the lagging competence of the postal system overseas do not sufficiently explain this.”

Claudine thoughtfully stirred the contents of her cup. “From your stations, how would letters proceed from there to England?”

“They may proceed by either land via Italy and Spain, or by sea through Gibraltar then on to the Channel,” Admiral Calamy said. “Have you experienced similar delays with your own letters?”

“Not at all; the post is fairly regular from Paris,” Claudine replied. “With some slight delays naturally, the further one is from Calais.”

Eponine took the opportunity to finish the remainder of her tea, feeling its hot path down past her throat and into her stomach. “So far we’ve been lucky,” she said as she set down her cup. “It’s quite late and I am sorry once again for the disturbance, Admiral Calamy. Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Calamy,” she added as she got to her feet in order to quit the room. ‘ _I can’t have them see what a fuss this all causes in my head,’_ she thought.

She was vaguely aware of Claudine following her, but she waited only till she was at the stairs before turning to address her best friend. “You don’t need to be so concerned about me,” Eponine said. “I only need to rest.”

“You’re worried about Enjolras, and your brother,” Claudine said. “I gather they will be travelling by sea from Spain?”

“Before we parted in Paris, Antoine told me their route from Madrid would take them to Valencia on the Spanish coast. Then they would sail to Venice. That’s about a week.” Eponine took a deep breath to compose herself despite the feeling of dread welling up in her chest. “There is more that the Admiral is not saying, especially with the letters and post being so strange.”

“Do you think that they are in danger?” Claudine asked in a whisper.

“Antoine would not be who he is without some danger always giving him trouble, and Jacques doesn’t know much yet of the world,” Eponine said wryly. She bit her lip as she looked at Claudine. “The worst part about being here is that the distance is so great, that if something happens the news would reach Aix and Paris first. I will be the last to know, when I cannot do much anymore to help them.”

“Enjolras is one of the sharpest people we both know, and he is able to keep his wits about him,” Claudine reminded her. “Jacques is a quick study, and he’s not likely to get into a scrape under your husband’s supervision.”

‘ _I have to believe that,’_ Eponine decided, even as she willed herself to nod. “They will be fine. I s’pose so will I, after a little rest.”

“That would be wise. You’re going to need your strength to deal with our diplomat friends,” Claudine said, touching Eponine’s arm.

“Don’t I know it!” Eponine laughed before heading back to her room. As soon as she arrived, she made sure to check her case of pistols, where she had replaced her gun prior to joining the impromptu tea downstairs. ‘ _I know they say that tea wakes one up, but it isn’t anything like coffee,’_ she found herself thinking as she stoked the embers in the stove and then slipped back into bed.

_Once again she was at the Marche Saint-Germain at the close of the day, when many of the neighborhood’s residents and workers gathered at the small market for food, and perhaps a little music. Today someone with a fiddle was playing merrily while various people danced in fours, much to the laughter and applause of the onlookers._

_She saw Enjolras watching these with bemused interest. “If you want to, I could go with you,” she offered teasingly._

_Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “That would be ridiculous.”_

_“Oh, the Latin Quartier’s legislator seen dancing the quadrille?” she laughed. Yet all the same the music was too much for her to resist, and she pulled at his hand. “Please? With me?”_

_“You can go on and dance if you wish, Eponine,” he said. “I will be here and watching for any reporters coming our way.”_

_She nudged him even as she rolled her eyes, then stepped over to where people were forming up for another dance. “Are there any more ladies needed?” she asked._

_“Citizenness, everyone is welcome,” another young woman replied, gesturing to where Eponine would have to start the quadrille._

_Eponine nodded as she adjusted her skirt slightly if only to keep from accidentally stepping on it during the dance’s energetic steps and kicks. “I hope no one notices my boots,” she whispered as the music began to play. All thought of this was soon banished as she skipped forward and back, following the footwork as best as she could. As she turned, she caught sight of Enjolras looking her way, but with a more intent look on his face that she knew all too well._

_‘It isn’t reporters he is looking out for,’ she realized as she made a turn again before being caught up once more in the dance._

This time it was the heat of the morning sun that suddenly brought Eponine back to the waking world. “What time is it anyway?” she wondered aloud, seeing that she had forgotten to wind her watch the night before. ‘ _I s’pose if there is no breakfast left, I can ask for coffee at least,’_ she decided as she hurriedly dressed, then headed downstairs.

She arrived in the dining room in time to only see Reynault there, dipping a pastry in his coffee. “Where is everyone else?” she asked.

“Your brother went out with the Combeferres. Lamarre is in the study talking with the Admiral Calamy and his wife,” Reynault said with a look of disgust. “Some matter about the navy and foreign waters.”

“It might concern trade, so shouldn’t you be there?” Eponine pointed out, remembering what she had learned the night before about privateers.

Reynault shook his head. “My job is to make a free-trade agreement between France and England, while Lamarre should concern himself with the cultural exchange. Once again he is overstepping out of his department.”

“In some way it would concern him as well, since in the absence of trains and with coaches being so unsuited for travel over water, what else carries culture?”

“Are you suddenly an expert on international relations, Citizenness?”

“You need me to translate. How do you expect me to do so without making sense of what we are doing?” the woman pointed out.

“Translate, but not meddle,” Reynault retorted. “Ambassador Delaroche will summon us to the embassy soon enough for more documents to build our case. At least we have until the Parliament reconvenes for us to find out how to save face.”

“Save face?”

“What does France have to offer England apart from its wines, cheeses, and finery? We no longer have colonies to source exotic goods from that the English will crave.”

“The three things you have mentioned provide a great deal, and I s’pose if you asked around a little bit more you would find some others to make the list longer,” Eponine said, knowing now full well what she had to do for today. ‘ _I have just enough paper to ask Cosette, Musichetta, and a few other ladies what other things the provinces can offer too,’_ she thought as she went to ask for a cup of coffee.


	25. A Madrid Welcome

**Chapter 25: A Madrid Welcome**

If the trip from Barcelona to Zaragoza had seemed onerous and interminable for Enjolras, Jacques and Belmont, the opposite was true for the trip from Zaragoza to Madrid despite both journeys being roughly of equal length. “Maybe it’s because we do not have Citizen D’Aramitz looming like some specter,” Jacques said thoughtfully as they left the city of Guadalajara in the middle of the night, where they had made a short stop to rest and change out their carriage horses.

“Convenient as it may seem now, we may regret his absence when we get to Madrid,” Enjolras pointed out. “Is there a chance of engaging additional assistance when we arrive?” he asked, directing this to Belmont.

The ambassador shook his head. “We have to see what we can do, even if it is just ourselves at work. I am already feeling sorry for sending D’Aramitz back to France, but now that I think about it, his departure might have been necessary if only for the preliminary report to be sent to the Head Office.” He stroked his chin, which was showing some stubble. “Still, the city of Madrid is more enjoyable in the company of friends or at least amiable colleagues.”

“I thought you were tired of Madrid?” Jacques asked.

“Tired of the politics, but the city itself is beautiful,” Belmont corrected. “Paris has the Seine, Zaragoza has the Ebro, while Madrid has the Manzanares. If you have seen any of Goya’s works, you might have seen a glimpse or two of this river.”

Jacques scratched his head. “How would you know if you are looking at one of his works, if you can’t see his signature?”

“He has a distinctive style…” Belmont trailed off. He looked at Enjolras helplessly. “How would you describe it?”

“Striking. But for a more verbose discussion on art I would point you to our friend Grantaire,” Enjolras deadpanned.

“Grantaire, the journalist?” Belmont asked. “Is it true he was a pupil of the painter Gros?”

“Many years ago, yes,” Enjolras said. ‘ _Ironically for all of that, Grantaire’s tastes in art these days would be execrated by that artist of historical scenes,’_ he thought wryly even as he saw both Jacques and Belmont both begin to yawn and nod off. Before long he could also feel drowsiness creeping up on him, despite all attempts to stay awake. ‘ _Then again in Spain taking a siesta is said to be healthful,’_ he thought as he made himself more comfortable in his seat if only to avoid a crick in his neck once he woke.

_“You can go on and dance if you wish, Eponine,” he had said to Eponine that night in the Marche Saint-Germain. “I will be here and watching for any reporters coming our way.”_

_She nudged and rolled her eyes, in that way that was meant to tease as well as challenge him. ‘Not this time, Eponine,’ he decided silently, standing his ground even as he watched her take her place among the dancers. He knew all too well that the music would lead up to a quadrille or reel, neither of which ever really appealed to his tastes._

_Yet he could not help but watch Eponine as she skipped and kicked in time with the music. Her reddish hair was flying every which way, giving a certain wild freedom to her form. She was almost laughing when she turned, and their eyes locked for a fleeting moment before she moved away in the next figure of the dance._

_He took a step closer to her and in that instant her very expression changed; where merriment had reached her eyes now there was only impassivity and cold scorn as she put her hand in that of another dancer. She laughed once more as she allowed yet another man to touch her waist, and still a fourth to take her arm and pull her close against him. Her hair was now like a flame, wrapping around her as she gyrated and twirled to the music. Enjolras called her name, but she only looked at him for a moment with a smile that was beautiful and cold before leaving him rooted to the spot, watching her dance further and further away._

Enjolras opened his eyes with a start, only to realize that he was still seated in the carriage with Jacques and Belmont. It was still dark outside; a quick check of his watch told him that it was past 2 in the morning. ‘ _That was not how it went,’_ he reminded himself. Now that he was awake he could more vividly recall that afternoon in the Marche Saint-Germain. ‘ _She still teased me about how sure she was that I wanted to dance together,’_ he thought as he took a deep breath, if only to ignore the pounding of his heart against his ribs.

After a while he took out his watch to wind it up once more. The ticking of this timepiece echoed far too loudly for his liking in the quiet of the carriage; somehow despite all of this, Jacques and Belmont remained fast asleep. Enjolras closed his eyes once more, but this time in an attempt to recall the sight of Eponine falling asleep next to him, as she had for most nights these past years. ‘ _Very likely she is asleep too at this hour in London,’_ he thought, seeing before his mind’s eye her face pressed into the pillows while her hair fell about her shoulders,.

He did not know when he finally fell asleep, but when he next opened his eyes again it was daylight. Jacques was reading through a book of Spanish phrases, while Belmont was humming an old ditty. “I was wondering when you’d wake up. You don’t normally sleep in,” Jacques remarked, looking up from his reading.

“I slept a little later,” Enjolras said dryly. “How long will we travel today?” he asked Belmont.

“We should be in Madrid by this afternoon,” Belmont replied. He stretched slightly only to end up wincing. “At least we aren’t doing this entirely on horseback.”

“That would be an adventure,” Jacques said. “I should like to try more riding, when we have time for it.”

“In the unlikely event of a lull, perhaps,” Enjolras said. He saw that they were approaching a sprawling city that was partly set on a height; its myriad church domes and steeples were dazzling in the spring sun. “On the height is the center of Madrid?” he asked.

“You could say that,” Belmont replied. He pointed towards the southwest. “There is the Palacio Real, or the Royal Palace. It is in the oldest part of the city.”

‘ _We will have to visit that, I am sure,’_ Enjolras thought even as he now heard in the distance the tolling of bells. “And where does the _cortes_ convene?”

“In two chambers: the Palacio del Senado for the Senate and the Palacio de las Cortes for the Congress of Deputies,” Belmont said. “Both are located in the old part of Madrid.”

Jacques stretched and shook a cramp out of his wrists. “But where is your own home located, Citizen?”

“It is also in the center of town, though not in such a prominent neighborhood or _barrio_ ,” Belmont said with some relief. “One thing I would have to say, the heart of Madrid is never boring.”

Enjolras glanced at Jacques sternly, seeing that the youngster was smiling far too gleefully for comfort. “Remember this is not the Latin Quartier. You still need to watch your step.”

Jacques sighed deeply. “I think I have learned well enough from what happened these past few weeks.”

‘ _We shall see,’_ Enjolras thought even as he craned his neck once again to get a better look at their destination. It seemed to him that the city was comprised of various rows and huddles of old houses surrounding different churches and monasteries. ‘ _Probably more than there are in Paris,’_ he observed. Each passing hour brought the tolling of bells, which grew increasingly louder as they neared the capital.

It was already mid-afternoon by the time Belmont directed the driver to take the carriage down one of the roads running parallel to the Plaza del Prado, which ran between two large plazas in the city. The carriage eventually stopped in front of a large house with graceful arched windows and peaked roofs. A small spire topped off its highest point. Several groups of servants had been waiting at the windows, but most of them quickly disappeared from their vantage points and hurried down to the front door in a lively throng.

Belmont sighed knowingly as he opened the carriage door. “ _Senor_ Delgado! Where are you?” he called as he stepped out.

“Right here---now please let me pass, _senoritas!”_ a spindly man bellowed as he pushed his way through a group of young maidservants who had been avidly gossiping as they milled about. He dusted off his clothes before making a deep bow to Belmont. “Glad that you had a safe trip, _Senor_ Belmont!” he greeted.

“And I am glad that you got the house up for our arrival,” Belmont said, clasping this man’s arms. “Citizens, may I introduce my _mayordomo­—_ that is to say my steward--- _Senor_ Delgado. _Senor_ Delgado meet my guests _Senor_ Enjolras and his brother-in-law _Senorito_ Thenardier.”

Enjolras stepped out of the carriage in turn to shake this steward’s proffered hand, but even as he did so he heard a rush of whispering and a few barely muffled giggles from the young maidservants in the crowd. Some of the older women gave the girls disapproving looks, but a few could not help but lift their mantillas for surreptitious glances at him. He looked back at Jacques, who was blushing deeply as he chatted up one of the girls. “Come along, we’re holding up everything,” he said in an undertone to urge the boy along into the house, where Belmont and Delgado were already waiting.

“As you instructed, I have had a dinner prepared and the neighbors are invited,” Delgado told Belmont. The _mayordomo_ scowled as the giggling from outside rose into excited squeals and not a few shrieks. “Do you always have this effect on a crowd, _Senor_?” he asked Enjolras mildly.

“I try to remain inconspicuous,” Enjolras deadpanned.

“I shall have to find a way to keep those girls in line. Most of them are the daughters of the older servants,” Delgado said with a deep sigh. He brought out some cards and notes from a pocket in his coat. “These came from different visitors, who are expecting to return in the next few days,” he said as he handed these to Belmont.

The ambassador went through these cards, only to frown and shake his head at one point. “It cannot be helped. This is Madrid after all,” he muttered. “We have some time to ready ourselves before dinner tonight. I always throw a large one every time I return here, if only to keep up the good cheer with the neighbors,” he informed his guests.

“Certainly, since you are all tired from travel,” Delgado said, nodding to some porters who were bringing the luggage in. He threw an exasperated look at some maids who entered, tittering as they went. “Let’s go upstairs before we cause another uproar.”

Jacques gave Enjolras a questioning look as they followed Belmont and Delgado to the stairwell. “I thought that Grantaire was just joking when he said that ladies used to be distracted by you. I guess he was right,” he said.

“I did not pay them any attention,” Enjolras pointed out. He was shown to a room that, fortunately for him, had large windows that were dressed only by light curtains. The large bed was also curtained, but these drapes were easily held back by braided cords. Just like many of his previous accommodations in other cities, this guest room had a writing table, a closet for his clothes, and a chair for lounging, but had the additional feature of a large basin meant specifically for washing. After his luggage was brought in, he locked the door and brought out his writing supplies to begin a new missive, even as once again the bells tolled the hour.

_May 9, 1842_

_Madrid, Spain_

_Eponine,_

_It would please and hearten you much to know that we have safely arrived in Madrid. We should be here till the last week of the month, so there will be some opportunity to correspond smoothly before we must leave for Valencia, and sail to Italy._

_The capital of Spain is just as many of our acquaintances in the diplomatic corps have described it; it is a city of churches and monasteries. Hearing them all toll the hour at once is impressive, though it is likely that some of our friends, specifically Joly and his colleagues, may have an opinion on the prolonged effects of living in such close proximity to this sound. It may astonish one to find that Madrid covers an area significantly smaller than Paris. Since it is an old settlement, its internal labyrinths rival our own fauborgs for complexity and perhaps also in terms of being crowded._

_At this hour, there is little I can substantiate, given that we have just recently arrived. Our host the Ambassador Belmont intends this evening to throw a party, as per his custom. It will be at least an opportunity to see the composition of his circle in this city, as well as learn something of its tempo before we have to meet with the officials of the Cortes. It is the Spanish equivalent of our legislature but is perhaps more akin to the English Parliament. Perhaps in subsequent writings, I will have more to relate._

_In the interim, I will await your next letter. With such interesting company that you are surely meeting in England, I am sure that you will have no lack of stories to relate._

_Yours always,_

_Antoine_

As soon as this letter was dry, he sealed and pocketed it, then headed downstairs to where the sounds of revelry were beginning. In one large room, most of the furniture had been cleared away to make room for a large table that was loaded with various grilled, salted, and dried meats, as well as tureens of different stews and soups. In another room someone was playing a guitar, and a few people had taken to dancing in pairs or quartets. Enjolras shook his head when he caught sight of Jacques in this merry throng, arm in arm with a tall girl with deep eyes and black hair. ‘ _The beginning of another misadventure,’_ he thought as he continued searching for Belmont amid the increasingly loud festivities. It did not help that wherever he passed, he would always catch sight of a girl or two giggling or waving at him shyly from behind their fans or drawing attention to their eyes using their lace handkerchiefs. He looked around once more, till finally catching sight of Belmont in the next room. As he made his way there, a door unexpectedly swung shut, forcing him to stop it quickly with a hand on the knob. Before he could open the door completely, he heard a matronly laugh from the other side, in the room he was just about to enter.

“I only want to know if it is true what they say about French lovers,” an older woman said. “It would be a shame if a handsome young man with that strapping body of his would only be someone to look at! ”

“Oh for shame, Concha, can’t you see he is married?” another lady cut in rebukingly. “If you haven’t noticed, there is a ring on his left hand!”

“My dear, you’d be surprised how easily men forget about _that_ ,” a third laughed. “You never know if he is one of those. You might be lucky.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth as he slowly opened the door and stepped in. He nodded to the three heavily powdered and made up matrons who were crowded nearest him. “Good evening, _Senoras_ ,” he said.

Two of the women stammered out their greetings before hiding in their mantillas, but one looked him straight in the face with a smile that was meant to be coy even as she looked him over with the air of one surveying a prize. “ _Senor_ , you know that any of the Ambassador’s guests are always welcome to call on any of his friends,” she crooned. “Perhaps _Senor_ Enjolras would want to visit one afternoon for a cup of chocolate?”

“Unfortunately, my schedule will not permit it. Good evening, _Senoras_ ,” Enjolras answered before walking past them. However, by now Belmont was being whisked away by a group of his neighbors who were cajoling him into opening some bottles of good wine. ‘ _Then again the quality of their spirits is something the Spaniards take pride in,’_ he reminded himself.

At length Enjolras noticed Delgado quickly motioning to him from a corner. “Is something the matter, _Senor_?” he asked the steward.

“This letter came specifically for you, _Senor_ Enjolras,” Delgado said, handing him a single sheet of folded, sealed paper.

Enjolras frowned on seeing the seal, recognizing it as that of one of the French noble houses. His suspicion was only confirmed when he opened the letter to find these words

_May 9, 1842_

_To Monsieur Enjolras,_

_I am writing to introduce myself and welcome you to Madrid. Your arrival this afternoon has already caused quite the sensation in the neighborhood._

_I am urgently requesting to meet with you at the Puerta del Sol tomorrow during the siesta hour. There are matters that we must speak about._

_Sincerely,_

_Monsieur du Bellay_

Enjolras quickly pocketed the note before nodding to Delgado. “Was this delivered in person, or by a messenger?”

“A servant,” Delgado replied. “Is the master known to you, _Senor?”_

Enjolras shook his head. ‘ _There will be another time to discuss this,’_ he thought as he looked to where Belmont was now opening a bottle of champagne, which fizzed and bubbled over amid the applause and cheers of all in the room.


	26. The Exiles

**Chapter 26: The Exiles**

Like many public squares throughout Madrid, the Puerta del Sol was a paved and treeless place surrounded by stately buildings and embellished with statues and monuments. ‘ _A place to be seen, but not during high noon,’_ Enjolras decided as he approached the quiet plaza on foot. He adjusted the wide brimmed hat that shielded his brow from the sun as he looked around the desolate area, only to find himself standing on a plaque that marked the center of the city. ‘ _This may mean that this Citizen du Bellay has reasons not to be seen,’_ he deduced even as he caught sight of a slightly stocky figure clad in a conspicuous bluish-green coat while standing in the shade of the Post Office building.

This stranger nodded by way of greeting. “Good afternoon Monsieur Enjolras. I am Monsieur du Bellay, of Anjou as you certainly already know.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Citizen,” Enjolras said cordially. “Are you personally acquainted with Ambassador Belmont?”

“From afar,” du Bellay said. Up close his portliness was more apparent, and his forty-four years were more evident on his features. His beady eyes looked Enjolras over, as if trying to decipher something about him. “You are aware that I am living here in exile?”

“A self-imposed one,” Enjolras pointed out. “Is this what you wish to speak about?”

“I only wish to continue living without interference, Monsieur Enjolras,” du Bellay replied curtly as he crossed his arms. “My family has been living peacefully here in Madrid for ten years; it has been a good life so far even if we are cut off from our homeland.”

“Nothing is stopping you from returning to France. All are welcome, regardless of what form of address they choose,” Enjolras said.

“No man of honor can live in a land wherein the rightful rule is so easily overthrown,” du Bellay muttered. “As unpopular as the Bourbons were, their governance was legitimate. It was difficult to bear the Duc D’Orleans taking the throne, but he was a good man. Then he was forced into exile by your discontented rabble-rousers and fishwives, and then I knew that France was no longer a place for us.”

“You are free to your preferences,” Enjolras said, raising an eyebrow at this impassioned outburst. “Why should these hinder you from living peacefully here in Madrid?”

“Your presence here would suggest otherwise.”

“How so? Enlighten me.”

The aristocrat’s eyes narrowed. “Were you not sent here to Madrid explicitly to report on the exiles living here?”

Enjolras shook his head. “My task here is primarily to assist Ambassador Belmont with some proposals for reform. Yes, this also concerns the French _émigré_ community here, but not in the manner you have spoken about.”

“In what way can you possibly help us?” du Bellay sneered. “We are all upstanding French here, who will have nothing of your----”

“Your rumor-mongering you mean?” another voice cut in from the shadows of the Post Office building “I knew I’d find you doing exactly this.”

Du Bellay glared at this newcomer. “Stay out of this business, Monsieur de Polignac!”

“I think not.” A tall young man emerged from his hiding place, dusting off his rich brown hair and his tall hat. Like du Bellay he was dressed richly but favored bright yellow for his coat and shimmering blue for his pantaloons. “I am Audric de Polignac, sometimes Citizen and sometimes Monsieur,” he greeted Enjolras gaily.

Enjolras shook de Polignac’s hand firmly. “Pleased to meet you. What brings you here?”

“I’m afraid you have been caught up in our merry war, Citizen Enjolras,” de Polignac replied. He glanced at du Bellay, who was glaring at him. “You don’t speak for all of us here in Madrid.”

“You are out of your place, boy,” du Bellay said through gritted teeth.

“It is just the heat getting to us,” de Polignac said with a dismissive shrug. “Perhaps we can all talk better in my house? It is not so far off, and we will be undisturbed while the rest of my household is having their _siesta_.”

“That would be wise,” Enjolras agreed, already feeling the beginnings of a sunburn on his nose. He glanced at his watch, which read just half-past one in the afternoon. ‘ _More than enough time to get back to Belmont’s house before the church tolls the Angelus,’_ he decided.

The young de Polignac’s residence was only a short walk from the Puerta del Sol; like many other houses in this area it had been recently refurbished in the image of the Gothic structures of Paris. ‘This is much nicer,” the aristocrat said as he showed Enjolras and du Bellay into a patio that had been screened with wood blinds against the afternoon sun. “When did you arrive in Madrid?” he asked Enjolras.

“Less than twenty-four hours ago,” Enjolras answered. “And you?”

“Ten years ago. I left with my father in June 1832,” de Polignac replied. “It was for his health of course, and he was afraid I would be conscripted into the barricades.”

Du Bellay snorted. “You were what, only fifteen? A prime candidate!”

“All those in the fighting were volunteers, and each went at his or her own risk,” Enjolras pointed out. ‘ _And yet it was among the youngest that some of the worst of it fell,’_ he reflected, remembering how Eponine, Marius, and Jean Prouvaire had all sustained serious injuries at the redoubt of the Rue de Chanvrerie. He looked again at de Polignac, who was now asking a servant to bring in some ices. “Is your father still here in Madrid?” he asked.

“He passed away three years after we arrived,” the young aristocrat replied. “And yes, I did not feel inclined to return to France, since I had made my own life here,” he added, indicating an ornate gold wedding band on his hand. “My lovely Clarita wishes to raise our children here, and so I am happy to remain.

“You are young, making new ties is easy for you,” du Bellay pointed out. “Had you lived in France for as long as I have, you would feel that it is not so easy to live elsewhere.”

“You have family with you still; when my father died I was all alone here,” de Polignac said more seriously. “Did you bring any family or friends here to Madrid or is it just you and the ambassador?” he asked Enjolras.

“My brother-in-law is with me.”

“Which one? Jean Prouvaire or one of the young Thenardiers?”

“The latter,” Enjolras said. “I gather you are updated then on matters from Paris at least if you are so aware of those particulars.”

“Paris and some of the major cities such as Lyon, Bordeaux, Avignon and Nantes.” De Polignac nodded gratefully as a servant brought in three large cups filled with shaved ice, an orange preserve, and custard. “We prefer to keep abreast of what interests we have left in France.”

“Indeed. And what is the general sentiment of the community here about the state of affairs in France?” Enjolras asked before tasting the concoction given to him. The abrupt coolness of the ice was sharpened by the tartness of the oranges, prompting him to temper this with a small spoonful of custard.

“Of course, there are some who are in the mold of our friend du Bellay,” de Polignac said, indicating their surly companion. “Then there are those of us who find living here in Spain much easier than in France; the climate suits us, the businesses here are good, and the people are a very passionate and lively sort,” he added with a wider smile.

“You only flourish because of the proclivities of General Espartero,” du Bellay muttered with disgust. “You watch and see what people will do to liberals like him.”

“Not if the people protect him; it is just in some quarters such as in Barcelona that he is disliked for reasons of their own,” de Polignac argued. “My apologies; these are local affairs,” he said to Enjolras.

“Affairs that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs is monitoring owing to their impact on France and its neighbors,” Enjolras said. “But what is your opinion of Espartero?”

“A brilliant tactician, but not much of a politician,” de Polignac said with a shrug “Some say he is a bit too much like the Emperor---”

“You mean Buonaparte,” du Bellay snapped. “Both of them being upstarts after all!”

“Excuse me, but did you just interrupt my husband in our own home?” chimed in a woman’s voice, loud and clear in that patio. A lady stepped into the room; she stood almost as tall as young de Polignac, while having the long black hair and darkened complexion so characteristic of many women of the area. Her eyes however were large and expressive, and her deep purple attire was so artfully tailored such that it drew attention away from the gentle swell of her midsection.

“You should be resting, Clarita,” de Polignac said as he got to his feet to greet his wife. “We’re just talking of news here.”

“Yes but the _siesta_ is good for your health too, and what am I to do alone upstairs?” the woman named Clarita said chidingly. Her French, although accented, was very melodious. “And how many times must I tell you _Senor_ du Bellay, not to disrespect _Senor_ de Polignac?”

Du Bellay gritted his teeth. “We were only having a discussion.”

“Ay, that is what you always say!” Clarita fumed. She looked keenly at Enjolras. “And who might you be, _Senor?”_

“Citizen Enjolras, please meet my wife Clarita de Polignac y’ Marquez. Clarita, meet _Senor_ Enjolras, who is a guest of our Ambassador,” de Polignac said gallantly as he showed her to a chair.

“A pleasant afternoon to you, _Senora._ I thank you for you and your husband’s hospitality, _Senora_ ,” Enjolras said politely.

“Wait, did Audric say your last name was Enjolras? And you are from Paris?” Clarita asked as she took a seat. “Then your wife’s name is Eponine?”

“Yes, that is her,” Enjolras said, feeling a smile tugging on his lips.

“Jesus, Mary, Joseph! Is she in Madrid with you now?” Clarita asked, her eyes going wide with excitement. “I’ve read _all_ of the things she’s written with her group of ladies!”

“Unfortunately, she is not travelling with me now; she also has work of her own,” Enjolras said apologetically to the pair.

Clarita brought a hand to her mouth to conceal her disappointment. “Such a pity; she would have been so celebrated by the women here, French and Spanish both!”

“My wife is not exaggerating; the writings of your own brilliant spouse are quite well known in some parts,” de Polignac chimed in.

“I will send your regards to her; she will be very glad to hear of it,” Enjolras told her. ‘ _It would cheer her up too where she is,’_ he mused even as he watched de Polignac personally serve Clarita a bowl of ice, with a particularly generous helping of custard.

Du Bellay shook his head disdainfully at this scene. “If your father could see you now,” he told the younger aristocrat.

“My father loved my mother, and I am following his example where my wife is concerned,” de Polignac said as he took a seat next to Clarita.

“I had hoped to have a sensible discussion with you, but it has been overtaken by liberalist nonsense, Monsieur Enjolras,” du Bellay said to his fellow guest. The older aristocrat’s lips were pursed with disgust as he got to his feet. “What I have heard of you has been confirmed. Good day.”

Enjolras glanced over his shoulder as du Bellay shut the patio door. “What does he mean by that?” he asked the de Polignacs.

“He hears a lot of things about many people,” Clarita said before taking another heaping spoonful of her food.

“He is not the only one of his kind,” de Polignac said. “I know the Ambassador has tried to assuage some of their fears and insist that it is safe to return to France if they wish.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “And what of you, who choose to remain here?”

“We live well enough, and are tolerated at the very least, welcomed for the most,” de Polignac said. “Even with the uproar in recent years with the young Queen Isabella, her mother the former Queen Regent Maria Cristina, the current Regent General Espartero, and of course the _Cortes,_ we have remained unmolested. The same is true for nationals hailing from Portugal, Italy, and other parts of Europe, as well as the Spanish colonies.”

“That might change if General Espartero is forced out and if someone worse than the Queen’s supporters will decide to take power,” Clarita pointed out. “The very fact you are from France will put us under suspicion.”

“It will not happen, I assure you. But should that be the case, we will certainly have a safe haven,” de Polignac promised as he clasped Clarita’s hand.

‘ _Hopefully it does not come to that, or they may find themselves in France sooner than the lady would like,’_ Enjolras thought even as he finished his cold snack. After some more discussion about the differing concerns of various _emigres_ , he took his leave of the de Polignacs and headed back to Belmont’s house.

When he arrived back at the house, he saw Jacques sitting out in the front yard, with a writing slope propped up on his lap. “Working on your correspondence?” Enjolras asked dryly.

“For Maria,” Jacques replied absent-mindedly.

“And that is her only name?”

“Maria Carmen,” Jacques began before suddenly going red as if he realized that he was no longer alone. “Why are you snooping?”

“If you are sending letters out today, let me know,” Enjolras said simply as he headed inside the house. As he approached the stairwell, he saw Belmont heading downstairs, stretching from a well-deserved nap. “Citizen du Bellay, as well as Citizen and Citizenness de Polignac all send their regards,” he said by way of greeting.

“De Polignac----ah the son of my old friend Benedeit!” Belmont exclaimed. “How did you come upon him?”

“He had a matter to settle too with Citizen du Bellay.”

“Is that so? Well I am glad you met young Audric de Polignac; he’s a good fellow. Citizen du Bellay is another matter.” Belmont sighed deeply. “We will see more of him again during this stay, I am sure.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras said even as he headed upstairs. Back in his room, he checked through his dwindling supply of paper and picked out the best sheet in the pile. ‘ _Hopefully this will do something for her mood while she is away,’_ he thought even as he readied some ink and his pen to begin setting down these words:

_May 10, 1842_

_Madrid, Spain_

_Eponine,_

_It is likely you will get this letter in conjunction with, or possibly even ahead, of the one I sent yesterday. However, I am sure that you will find pleasure in reading what I have to relate here._

_Today was an opportunity to see a little more of Madrid. The Ambassador’s residence is located in the older part of the city, not far from a major thoroughfare called the Plaza del Prado. One would liken it to the Champs-Elysee at Paris in terms of its grandeur and aesthetics. It is in contrast to the Puerta del Sol, which is a more barren public square of some importance located near the old walls of Madrid. The Puerta del Sol can be analogous as well to the Place du Pantheon for its antiquity as well as its political importance. It is likely that similar analogies can be drawn as well with the other old cities of Europe—London included perhaps._

_It would please you greatly to know that you have readers as well here in Spain. I had the chance to speak with a certain Citizen Audric de Polignac and his wife Citizenness Clarita de Polignac. The gentleman is, as you certainly have guessed, an émigré, while the lady is from Madrid. Citizen de Polignac is a most reasonable character and acquainted with Ambassador Belmont. Citizenness de Polignac was disappointed on learning that you were not in the city, for she had wished to meet you in person. Both of them have said that your own writing is celebrated in some circles here._

_I greatly look forward to reading on your thoughts regarding these matters. Since we will be here in Madrid for a while, I have great hope of receiving your replies more regularly._

_Yours always,_

_Antoine_


	27. The Eyes of Thieves

**Chapter 27: Eyes of Thieves**

_May 5, 1842_

_72 Piccadilly, London, England_

_Dear Chetta,_

_I hope that everything is well when you find this letter: that the upcoming spring weddings have not taxed you too severely in your shop, that everyone’s children are well, and that the weather has not exacerbated Joly’s allergies. Please do not be surprised by the change in my address; we have merely moved lodgings for economy’s sake. You can be sure that this is still in a good part of London, and not a part that would be a scene for a penny’s worth of a story (or in our case a two-sou story) of crime and all things dreadful._

_Unfortunately, I do not have particularly good sketches to send you this time, for the Season here has come to a pause till the end of the month. This time though I must ask a big favor out of you. There is a big question here that must be answered, which is what France can offer England in terms of trade and commerce. Our papers here are very limited, since of course they concern England, but I would need the latest news from France. By simply thinking it over, I can write down our cheeses, our wines, our exquisite truffles from various parts of France, our lacework from Alencon and its neighbors, the rare fragrances from Provence and other fields of the Midi, and of course all our fashions and arts from all over. I will need much more to make this list something worthy to present to the Parliament when it convenes again. Could you please help me by making a list of what Paris can provide, and where it can be found?_

_I have also written to all our friends asking for help on the same matter. Claudine reminded me that it is also the time for one of the bigger meetings of our women’s society, and I suppose it might be helpful to ask the ladies who visit from all over what they and their husbands do for a living. It would help make the picture somehow more complete._

_I will try to include some sketches next time I write, or whatever nice thing you request of me here. Already I cannot thank you enough._

_Your friend who misses you greatly,_

_Eponine_

The six days after Eponine posted this letter were quiet ones for the house at Piccadilly, much to the relief of some of its occupants. “Whatever trick Citizen Combeferre did to smooth Reynault over, I am thankful for it,” Lamarre remarked one morning as he and Eponine were at work in the morning room, in order to make the best of the natural light. “I have not known such peace between us since we arrived in England all those weeks ago.”

“Mostly because Reynault has taken it upon himself to go visiting and still more visiting, while you are here with papers,” Eponine said, looking up from the translation she was penning. She stretched out on a chaise and propped up her work on her lap, not minding if it rumpled her blue work dress. “Does Ambassador Delaroche know you have divided up the work this way?”

“That is not up to him; what he cares about only is that we have something to negotiate with when Parliament reconvenes,” Lamarre replied. He looked up as a knock sounded on the door. “Come right in!”

“I don’t think I need permission to come into my own morning room,” Victoria said as she entered, carrying a book of her own. “I see you particularly enjoy this place though,” she added, looking amusedly at Eponine.

“It reminds me a little of my own translating room at home,” Eponine replied, sitting up straight. “Is something the matter?”

Victoria shook her head. “Nothing. My husband went today to speak with the Blakeneys. He will have it all out and right.” She took a seat and set her book on her lap. “That he will.”

“Doctor Maturin doesn’t require your presence today?” Lamarre asked.

“I just came from his place, and will be around there again later,” Victoria said. “Even at his age he truly prefers to be left alone.”

‘ _Probably out of habit,’_ Eponine noted as she tried to focus back on her work, which was basically translating a French guildsmen’s paper into English. ‘ _I will never understand why English doesn’t have male and female words the way we French do, or why everyone is simply ‘you’ in English when one really should have something for ‘vous’ and ‘tu’,’_ she thought, biting her lip.

After a few more minutes, a knock sounded on the door, prompting Victoria to snap her book shut. “Peter, you’re back already?” she called.

“It’s not the Admiral, it’s just me and Richard!” Julia Williamson called.

Eponine quickly set down her translation and then sat up straight and smoothed out her dress just a moment before the door opened to admit Julia, as well as a gangly gentleman with graying blond hair who was clearly Mr. Richard Williamson. “Good to see you again too, Mrs. Williamson,” she greeted.

Julia let out a shriek of joy on seeing Eponine. “You’re here! I didn’t know you were visiting! I finally get to introduce you to my husband.” She pulled forward her companion. “Mr. Williamson, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Enjolras. Mrs. Enjolras, meet Mr. Williamson formerly Lieutenant Williamson of the Royal Navy, but now simply my Mr. Williamson from Manchester.”

“Finally, I get to meet you, Madame,” Williamson said, shaking Eponine’s hand. “My wife has been going on about you for days!”

Victoria cleared her throat. “Also, I’d like to introduce you both to Mr. Lamarre, who’s also affiliated with the French embassy. Their entire party is staying here with us,” she said, signing for Lamarre to come forward.

Lamarre shook Julia’s hand first, then Williamson’s. “It’s an honor to meet someone who has been in the service,” he said to the former officer.

“I wish it was truly as honorable as people make it sound; the life never suited me,” Williamson said as they all took their seats, only for him to nearly knock over some papers Eponine had stacked on the chaise. “Are we interrupting something?”

“The light is best here, so I let them work here. This _would_ have been the best place for a study but there was already one when we got this house,” Victoria said breezily. “Though I am definitely not regretful that this is my morning room.”

“You’ve always had such wonderful taste,” Julia said, looking wistfully at the curtains. She elbowed her husband. “Do you think we can ever trade in lace this fine?”

“That is not up to me, it is up to the East India Company,” Williamson muttered.

“Have you ever considered trading from France?” Eponine asked. “I know most of our Alencon lace goes into piecework and Parisian dresses, but there are other places aside from Alencon that supply lace too and would definitely like such an arrangement.”

Williamson looked curiously at her. “Can they produce in large quantities?”

“If you mean like a factory, no. It is still the work of artisans but I s’pose the price would be worth it,” Eponine said.

“The mass market is always profitable, but you could always use a luxury line,” Victoria chimed in approvingly. “Keeps things respectable.”

“Careful there, Reynault would think you are doing his work for him,” Lamarre warned Eponine in an undertone

“Better than it not getting done,” Eponine retorted, looking now to where Julia was toying with a necklace of black and white beads. She set down her work in order to watch the older woman fiddle with the ornament. “Is that actual jet or glass?”

“Glass of course; I wouldn’t dare wear jet on ordinary days,” Julia replied, showing off the piece proudly. “It’s rather old; it came from the French town of Montreuil-sur-mer.”

Eponine smiled ruefully at this. “It’s good you kept it. It’s very precious.”

“It’s glass but beautiful glass,” Julia concurred. “The town doesn’t make these anymore. I haven’t seen other French glass pieces of this sort in a while.”

“Maybe someday there will be more,” Eponine murmured, thinking now of Cosette’s recent letter. _‘Certainly not from Montreuil-sur-mer, but perhaps from another place nearer to Paris.’_

At that moment the morning room door swung open, this time admitting Admiral Calamy, who was red in the face. “Good morning everyone. You too, Mr. and Mrs. Williamson,” he said gruffly to his friends as he took a seat. 

Victoria made a tutting sound as she moved to sit next to her husband. “I take that Will is still being very obstinate?”

“An absolute prig, that is what he is,” the Admiral seethed. “He says that _you_ should have known better than to introduce our guests to him and his wife!”

“Come on you old brute, aren’t you used to him already?” Williamson chimed in. “His Lordship has gotten to his head.”

Admiral Calamy gave Williamson a withering look. “And what about his being an officer and a gentleman?”

“That only works at sea; everything changes when back on land,” Williamson said. “He’s an English peer, everyone here in this room is so far below him in precedence that he would trip over us if his nose was any longer.”

“There was a time when he wouldn’t have dared.”

“When you were Captain Peter Miles Calamy, and he was Lieutenant William Blakeney. Now he’s no longer in the service and free to use his position. Is that so difficult to understand?”

“Richard please, your yelling will give me headaches,” Julia said, rubbing her temples. She sighed as she saw Williamson roll her eyes while the Admiral hung his head with a stricken expression. “Now that Admiral Calamy is here, can we say what we’re here for?” she continued.

“You had other reasons aside from visiting?” Victoria asked.

“To invite you to visit back. We have a small concert at our London residence tonight, and we’d like for you to be there,” Julia replied. “Not just you and Admiral Calamy, but even Mrs. Enjolras, her brother, as well as Doctor Combeferre and Mrs. Combeferre. And you too, Mr. Lamarre since you are a guest here too.”

Lamarre reddened slightly. “Only if it will not be an imposition. I will have to also ask my colleague Citizen Reynault—”

“If he is a guest here, he may also come along,” Julia said. “I am sure you will need the rest, after working all day.”

“As long as there isn’t any dancing, I’m ready for it. I think I’ve already had my fill of it for some weeks,” Eponine quipped before she turned her attention back to her work, letting the Calamys entertain the Williamsons and occasionally Lamarre. ‘ _A little chatter won’t be too much of a bother,’_ she thought as she finished another page of her translation.

She hardly noticed the hours going by, until Victoria suddenly set down a plate of cold chicken and a cup of hot coffee next to her. “You cannot work on an empty stomach,” the older woman chided. “I’ll have a maid pick it up when you are done.”

Eponine looked up from her translating only to realize that she had been left quite alone in the morning room. “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, Mrs. Calamy.”

“Work is work,” Victoria said, just as the morning room door opened. “Everything is alright, she will just eat her luncheon,” she told the maid who peered in.

“Pardon me, Ma’am, but a letter has come for Mrs. Enjolras,” the maid said, holding out a missive. “Straight from the Embassy’s courier.”

‘ _Probably from Delaroche,’_ Eponine thought as she got up to take the letter, only to see the firm and smooth handwriting on the envelope. “It’s here at last!” she exclaimed.

“You can’t work on an empty heart either, I see,” Victoria said knowingly. “Don’t forget, the Williamsons are bringing us all out later so please be ready before six tonight.”

“I shan’t forget,” Eponine said, no longer hiding her smile. She waited for Victoria to leave before sitting back down on the chaise to open the message. ‘ _Antoine, you don’t need any sort of device to show things to me, your words have always more than sufficed,’_ she thought as she read through Enjolras’ vivid description of the city of Zaragoza.

Yet as alluring as her lover’s prose was, the relative brevity of the rest of the letter gave her some pause. “Normally when there are secret affairs, you couch them in a way that is discreet, or you say you will explain later. But not like this!” she mused aloud. “Either it is something unresolved that you cannot write about, or it is something very serious.”

She reached into her pile of paper for two fresh sheets, on which she carefully wrote down:

_May 11, 1842_

_72 Piccadilly, London, England_

_My dearest Antoine,_

_I am writing to simply let you know that I finally received the letter you sent from Zaragoza. Reading it made me feel as if I was standing there with you, looking out over the Ebro. I imagine it to be a much more colorful city than Barcelona, which I picture almost exclusively in brown except for the lovely neighborhood by the beach and what churches are there of course. Apart from this I find the rest of your letter to be rather brief. I know that you cannot tell me of all the details of your work, but if there is some trouble that weighs on you, let me know and it will stay with me. If it concerns Jacques, I s’pose the best course is to simply wait for him to have it out on his own, unless it is something that is deeply worrisome._

_I suppose that if you are now reading this in Madrid, you have already with you my letter telling about the change of address, the meeting with Prince Albert, and the success that Claudine, Combeferre and Neville have had. Shortly after writing and sending that particular letter, I inadvertently gave Admiral Calamy, yes the husband of Mrs. Calamy, a fright. For some reason their correspondence had failed with no message coming to and from the Mediterranean, and no letter had come from him to tell his wife that he would be arriving home in the dead of the night. I was unfortunate to hear him trying to make his way in unannounced and so I went to investigate since the ruckus could be heard from the house’s third floor. It was good that the matter was sorted out before I could think of using one of my pistols, and nothing terrible happened except Admiral Calamy being cross and rightfully saying that I was not to use such weapons in his residence._

_I also must confess that I was too quick to say that I could not ever have confidence in Mrs. Calamy. I would not say we are particular friends, but only that I feel less danger from being in her presence, or speaking on various matters, or hearing her confidences. She has also been kind enough to introduce me to another friend of hers, Mrs. Williamson. Since she is no peeress, nor is she married to one, I do not think I am in danger of another spot of trouble such as what happened weeks ago. Mrs. Williamson is more in the style of some of our friends at home---she is loud, familiar, and incapable of concealing a thought. With all of this work wherein one has to be careful with words, it is such a relief to meet someone who can be so easy to deal with. I also was introduced to her husband today when they came to visit; he’s a more formal sort but he has no qualms calling the Admiral an old brute to his face. There is a story there I am so sure. Anyway they have invited us to watch a concert tonight, and I am happy to get a little time away from all these papers._

_I will gladly pass along the reassurances to our family and friends in Paris that you and Jacques are well. I should tell you not to be surprised if your parents mention that I wrote to them asking about the different sorts of trades and products of Provence. It is just something the diplomats are looking into._

_Will you tell me a little bit more about how you are? I do like reading of it so._

_With all my love,_

_Eponine_

She let this missive dry out while she finished her quick repast, then folded and sealed it for mailing. As she stepped out into the hall to return her dishes and find a way to mail the letter, she caught sight of Combeferre and Claudine handing some mail to Reynault. “A moment please, can you also add this?” she asked, hurrying up to them.

“Citizenness! How many of these do you send each week?” Reynault asked as he let her drop the missive into the diplomatic pouch.

“As many as I have to,” Eponine replied with a shrug. “Have you heard the news, of our appointment later?”

“Of the dinner invite and the concerto? Of course,” Reynault said, gesturing to the drawing room where their hosts and their English guests had retired to. “It’s good that you and Lamarre are finally lightening up.”

“Or rather that they are so prompt with their tasks that there is now a window for leisure,” Combeferre pointed out.

“And yes, I now must finish it all or I shan’t enjoy this evening,” Eponine said before she rushed back to the morning room to continue her work. By the time she was done, the hour was past four in the afternoon, and her fingers were beginning to ache. As soon as the ink on the last translation was dry, she collated all the papers and headed up to the third floor, where she found Lamarre and Neville conversing in the hall.

“Here they are. If you have anything else for me, I s’pose I’ll be better off working on it in the morning,” she said as she handed over the papers with a flourish.

“See I told you she’d do it,” Neville remarked proudly. “She’s the fastest of all of us with translations, and that’s really something since my other sister Azelma also knows a bit because of the plays she and Prouvaire make.”

“This is unprecedented,” Lamarre said with some disbelief as he looked over the translations handed to him. “Citizenness, after we return to France, I should recommend you to be one of our permanent translators with the diplomatic corps!”

“That would be nice, but that would mean I could never translate the plays and songs my brother-in-law makes, or even help the Combeferres with the scientific books they are making. I’d never have the time for those,” Eponine pointed out.

“A sacrifice that must be made, but I do see your point,” Lamarre said before going into his room. In the half-light the Thenardier siblings could see him putting the translations into a drawer in his desk, then locking them. “We have some time yet to prepare; I heard there is tea downstairs.”

“You go on ahead; I haven’t the stomach for it,” Eponine said before going to her own room. After quickly washing up, she changed out of her work dress into a more elegant blue one, and then put up her hair in a simple knot. ‘ _This time I will look nice because I want to,’_ she decided as she put on her silver necklace, then headed downstairs to the drawing room.

Sitting here were Victoria and Julia; the former sighed despairingly on seeing Eponine. “That silver piece again? If you like, I could lend you one,” she suggested.

“Thank you, but I like it because it does well for the ordinary as well as the grand days too,” Eponine replied.

“I think it’s very pretty,” Julia chimed in. “Where did you get it?”

“A small inheritance,” Eponine said proudly. ‘ _Cosette said it was to remind me of home, but she also said that her father had it made for me, much the same as he also had a wonderful piece made for her,’_ she thought even as she glanced down at the single silver rose pendant.

“That’s charming, but really, your complexion lends itself more to emeralds,” Victoria pointed out with a shrug. She glanced towards the sound of footsteps on the stairs. “There are the gentlemen now; we must get going!”

‘ _And how will we all fit?’_ Eponine wondered, but as she glanced out the window she saw a coachman bring up the Calamys’ plain barouche, and another similar coach belonging to the Willamsons. “It will be a tight fit then,” she muttered as she stepped out into the hall.

The Williamsons had rented an elegant townhouse in the vicinity of Camden, located north of Mayfair. It was half past seven when their entire party arrived, feeling a little cramped from squeezing five persons into each barouche. “How many people did you invite?” Eponine asked Julia, seeing that there were quite a number of other guests in the house.

“They are Richard’s guests; many are our neighbors but some are his old shipmates,” Julia explained in an undertone. “Mrs. Calamy would recognize some of them too,” she added, glancing at one of their companions.

“Music was part of our lives on the HMS Surprise. Back when his hands were still steady, Dr. Maturin would play the cello,” Victoria chimed in.

“He mentioned he would play duets with his friend the Admiral Aubrey?” Claudine clarified.

Victoria nodded with a slightly sad smile. “That is one of the sounds I greatly miss,” she said as they entered the house.

The rooms in the Williamsons’ lodgings were set up more simply than those at the Blakeneys; a single room housed a table of simple but substantial refreshments such as roasts and cold meats, platters of thinly sliced cakes, as well as wines and juices. A larger room was set up for the concerto, such that the musicians would stand in the middle of the room while the audience occupied the couches and soft seats all along the side. “It is unusual, but this idea was seen in Paris,” Williamson informed his guests as they found their places in the room. “Apparently these are how dramatists’ salons are set up.”

Eponine could not help but laugh as she swilled the contents of a glass of wine she had in hand. “Oh, we’ve been to a few of those!”

“Whose salon?” Williamson asked.

“The Prouvaires at the Rue de Conde,” Eponine answered, seeing how Combeferre, Claudine, Neville and even Lamarre were fighting to keep straight faces.

“As in Jean Prouvaire the poet laureate of Paris?” Williamson asked incredulously.

“Yes him, but I prefer to call him my brother-in-law,” Eponine said innocently before taking a sip of the red wine.

“Our sister Azelma is married to Jean Prouvaire,” Neville explained to the incredulous former officer. “We are at their place from time to time, but they come more often to ours.”

“You have a most interesting upbringing, Master Thenardier,” Williamson said. “I could never manage books, so it is a good thing I went to sea for my education.”

“An education in shooting and mischief, till Peter had you do the navigation for a _week_ so you would learn it in truth instead of giving the Captain headaches,” Victoria scoffed.

“Navigation bores me,” Williamson said. “I preferred to be outside instead of becoming the adding machine like the Admiral here.”

“Were it not for being an ‘adding machine’, we would never have gotten home from the Galapagos,” Admiral Calamy retorted.

Julia let out a long-suffering sigh. “Someday, someone is going to make a naval song out of you two called the Bickering Sailor. How would you like that?”

Eponine had to hide a giggle behind her wine even as she saw a pair of violinists step up to the center of the room. “Where are they from?” she asked Julia.

“The Royal Academy of Music,” Julia replied. “Richard’s father used to sponsor the education of some pupils there, and we are continuing the tradition.”

Eponine nodded even as the musicians began to play the first strains of what she soon recognized as one of Musichetta’s favorite arias by the composer Rossini. ‘ _Though this is the first time I’m not hearing it with any singing,’_ she thought. To Eponine, the music suddenly seemed so wild and yet lively in this form, prompting her to listen even more closely. The music soon flowed from this aria to another composition, but she could not help but be entranced at the violinists’ fluid movements, to the point of forgetting about her glass of wine entirely.

At length Claudine tapped Eponine’s shoulder during a short intermission. “I haven’t seen you so quiet in a long while,” the older woman teased. “Is everything well?”

“I s’pose it is because I am so used to so much singing and dancing when we are in Paris. You know how we usually do music in our squares and public places,” Eponine said with a smile. She sipped her glass of wine, frowning on finding that the liquid was now a little too warm for her taste. “But you know we can’t do all of that in our Parisian houses. Maybe in those large country houses, so outdoors is more than enough.”

“I prefer to believe that music is something that should be had by all, hence its very public nature at home,” Combeferre observed. “And hence its inclusion in education, for its role in uplifting the human mind and spirit.”

“To make that really happen Francois, we need to find a way to document a performance aside from sheet music. That or we find a way for every student who learns by ear to attend concerts by the masters,” Claudine pointed out. “We already have the camera obscura and the daguerreotype, so perhaps someday the equivalent can be made for music and even speeches.”

“There, you have a project,” Lamarre remarked, overhearing this. “Or would it fall to you, young Citizen Thenardier?” he asked.

Neville shook his head. “I’d rather build a glass for better observing fish underwater,” he said before the violinists began to play once more.

After another hour and a half, the concert ended, and the guests slowly left in small groups. “I was hoping they would play a Corelli, just for old times’ sake,” Victoria told her husband in an undertone after their party had bid goodbye to the Williamsons. “Although there is nothing wrong with a repertoire centered around opera.”

“I had expected they would suddenly start up an act,” the Admiral said. “How do you rate them?” he asked their French visitors.

“Very skilled. Even if they were accompanying no one, the violins in themselves already served as a whole song,” Combeferre answered.

“As for me, the music only made me wish to sing more,” Eponine remarked even as they boarded the carriages that would bring them back to Piccadilly. ‘ _Musichetta would have enjoyed this the most, because they played most of her favorites,’_ she thought as she settled in with Neville and the Combeferres, shortly before the vehicle drew away from the still busy house.

When they arrived at Piccadilly, there seemed to be much confusion on the street. “There’s some scene afoot,” Combeferre muttered as he peered out the window. “The police are about.”

“Probably a burglary,” Eponine remarked. She looked out the window and felt her stomach drop as she saw where much of this commotion was centered. “I think we’ve had a break in,” she whispered as she ducked back into the carriage.

Claudine’s eyes went wide as she crossed herself. “I hope no one was hurt.”

‘ _These things never end well,’_ Eponine thought even as the carriage soon came to a stop. She lost no time in alighting, just as the Calamys, Lamarre, and Reynault also hurried out from their conveyance. “Did they catch whoever did it?” she asked.

Victoria shook her head before hurrying to one of her servants, who was pale and stammering. “Peter please check on the others!” she called to her husband.

A policeman walked up to Victoria, who was seating one of her maids on the step. “Mrs. Calamy, isn’t it? It would appear that it was the third floor that the burglar targeted,” he began.

“What!” Lamarre exclaimed before bolting into the house.

“Stay back! You’re not supposed to go upstairs!” Eponine shouted but the diplomat was already hurrying up the stairs. She quickly slipped past the policemen milling about and raced up after Lamarre, whose footsteps could be heard on the second storey.

When she arrived on the third floor, she saw Lamarre shaking his head and pacing the hallway. “No, no, they can’t have taken them!” the man cried. “After all our work—”

“What did they take?” Eponine asked even as she seized a candle from the wall. She realized now that only one door in the hall had been opened, namely Lamarre’s room. She brought the candle forward and saw in the dim light a drawer now lying on the floor. ‘ _Which could have only come from one place,’_ she realized as she looked at the livid diplomat.

Lamarre nodded grimly. “Someone knew I put the documents here. And I intend to find out who, so help me God!” he roared as he stormed down the stairs.


	28. Morning is a Good Herald

**Chapter 28: Morning is a Good Herald**

“ _I am sure you were behind all this, so you made sure to have them stolen!”_

_“Aren’t we on the same side, Citizen Lamarre?”_

Long after the shouting and threats had died down, with Lamarre and Reynault being forcibly separated and put in different rooms, Eponine was pretty sure her ears were still ringing with the din that had surely woken up most of Piccadilly. ‘ _It’s not so much who did it; the police will find out easy enough,’_ she mused as she sat in the drawing room with a cup of coffee. A glance at the clock told her that it was already midnight, but the agitated household showed no signs of finding rest soon enough.

“Eponine are you still there?” Claudine asked, opening the door a crack. The older woman quietly stepped in, carrying a cup of hot tea. “You’ve been in here this whole time?”

“I can’t sleep what with the house all a rumpus,” Eponine replied. “Where is Combeferre?”

“Francois is still tending to the wounded servants, with Neville’s help. One of them needs his arm set, so that will take some work,” Claudine said before biting her lip. “We may as well send in the morning for some plaster, and maybe throat drops for Lamarre _and_ Reynault.”

“I know why Lamarre is furious about losing the papers but accusing Reynault of being behind it was really too much,” Eponine remarked. “Your rooms weren’t broken into?”

Claudine shook her head. “Yours?”

“Not at all, but I don’t have anything of value there,” Eponine said, touching the necklace she wore. “At least nothing of value to the thief,” she added in an undertone.

“Your notes?”

“Untouched!”

Claudine looked down into her tea. “Then whoever did it knew exactly what to look for. Who else knows what was in those notes?”

“No one I s’pose, but I wouldn’t know if Lamarre talked about it to anyone. I was in the morning room all day,” Eponine pointed out. ‘ _Still, that means someone was watching us and Neville when Lamarre put the papers in his room,’_ she realized as she took a sip of her drink.

The drawing room door opened, this time admitting Victoria. The Englishwoman was pale and grim as she shut the door behind her. “The police will continue their investigation, but right now Peter is having some of our servants sacked,” she announced.

Eponine nearly spat out her coffee. “At this hour?”

“They will leave as soon as it is light. If there is one thing a respectable house and the Navy have in common, they both cannot abide a thief,” Victoria said as she took a seat. “Is there any way we can help you or Mr. Lamarre recover what has been lost?”

Eponine shook her head. “It will have to be our own work done all over again.”

“I am very sorry to hear that,” Victoria said. She glanced towards the door and the now silent hallway beyond. “I’ve already sent those two belligerent colleagues of yours up to their rooms; God help them from murdering each other. We should get some rest too.”

“I will go check on Francois and Neville,” Claudine said with a yawn. “Thank you very much for all of this, Mrs. Calamy.”

‘ _She is in an awful hurry to have us go to sleep,’_ Eponine could not help thinking even as she held back a yawn of her own. As soon as she was back in her room, she quickly put out the candle and undressed in the dark. ‘ _The better for them to think that I have gone to bed,’_ she thought even as she lay awake listening to the footsteps and whispers all throughout the house. It was only when she heard the familiar sound of Neville’s footsteps heading up to his room on the third floor that she dared to close her eyes.

When she awoke it was just past dawn, and the house was all quiet. “I do wake at this time when I am at home, so I s’pose there is no use going back to sleep now,” she muttered as she hurriedly washed her face and donned one of her plainer dresses. She grabbed a shawl and a straw bonnet then slipped out of her room, still in stocking feet. As quietly as she could manage, she made her way downstairs, planning to don her footwear only when she was at the front door. She saw that the door was only barred by a flimsy lock, which she managed to pick with one of her hairpins. _‘Safe!’_ she thought as she pulled on her boots and slipped out of the house. 

Although the air was still crisp and cold, the very smell of it was sweet for Eponine as she strolled down the street. “The daytime looks quite nice here,” she mused aloud, looking to the sun slowly peeking through the treetops. Now and then she saw people riding to or from the general direction of Hyde Park; it was the hour for early morning exercise. ‘ _How do they not bump into each other on Rotten Row?’_ she wondered as she rounded a street corner.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw two men on horseback galloping down the street, and she quickly jumped out of the way before she could be trampled. “Get out of the way, peasant!” one of the gentlemen roared, raising a riding crop.

‘ _Lord Griffiths!’_ Eponine realized as she caught a glimpse of this rider. She stepped back in time to avoid his riding crop, lashing towards her face. “I’m so sorry, good Sir. So sorry,” she stammered out in English even as she pulled her bonnet more tightly over her head to cover her reddish hair. “I didn’t see!” 

“Come now, you’re scaring that poor peasant girl,” Lord Griffiths’ companion chided. “Clearly she’s never seen anything faster than a pack-horse.”

“Indeed, and what if she had given my horse or yours a fright, and someone had gotten thrown?” Lord Griffiths asked icily. He sneered at Eponine, who kept her head bowed. “Go on, girl. This should teach you to stay out of the way of your betters!”

‘ _Little do you know!’_ Eponine thought, putting her hand to her lips if only to hide her smile of triumph at going unrecognized. She watched the two horsemen leave, but instead of turning towards Hyde Park, they made their way north to Bond Street. “How now, is there any riding there?” she whispered as she began to follow them, taking care to remain in the shadows of the houses and the trees.

At length she saw the two gentlemen stop in front of a townhouse that would have been non-descript if not for having only one lantern lit at its threshold. Eponine crouched near a fence to get a better view of Lord Griffiths and his companion entering this house. They were met by a man in servant’s livery, who handed an envelope over in exchange for what appeared to be a bottle of wine.

“Were you followed here?” Lord Griffiths asked the man in livery.

“Not at all. I made sure to travel by cover of night,” the man replied.

“All the way from East End?”

“There is a way through Clerkenwell and it misses all scrutiny by river.”

“Very good!”

Eponine edged closer to hear more, but at that moment a sound came from within the house, prompting the men to look around. ‘ _Now that’s done it!”_ she thought as she slowly stepped away, then ran back towards 72 Piccadilly. Before reaching the house she stopped and looked over her shoulder, only to breathe a sigh of relief on finding that she was alone and unnoticed. “So he’s being watched by someone, and now I’m another pair of eyes doing the same thing!” she muttered as she arrived at the Calamys’ residence, just as a servant was stepping out to get the morning paper. She quickly dashed in and mumbled an apology to the servant before breezing into the front hall, just in time to see Victoria coming down the stairs.

The Englishwoman’s eyes widened on seeing her guest. “Where did you come from?”

“I went out for a walk,” Eponine said with a smile as she untied her bonnet strings.

“At this hour?”

“Usually this is when I buy bread, so I’m used to being up and outside.”

Victoria nodded slowly. “You keep such odd hours in Paris,” she said before heading down to confer with the maids about some other household matters. “You can wait in the drawing room while they set out breakfast,” she called over her shoulder.

“Even here she has to be so formal,” Eponine muttered as she lingered in the hall, if only to enjoy the smell of coffee wafting through the air. The rich, full aroma had her smiling at the memories of all the months that she and Enjolras had to endure each other’s attempts at hastily brewing coffee while they were both still tenants at the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau, just after the revolution. ‘ _A good thing we got much better at that before moving to the Rue Guisarde,’_ she thought mirthfully. 

Within the next hour the household was up and gathered downstairs for breakfast, albeit a mostly silent one. Reynault and Lamarre glared at each other over their bread, heedless of Combeferre and Claudine’s both attempting to make conversation, or Neville’s surreptitious reading of a book under the table. Meanwhile, Victoria was continuously getting up from the table to give orders to the servants, while Admiral Calamy simply read through the morning paper. Eponine only sipped her coffee, hoping this would give her an excuse to quit breakfast early, till suddenly a maid entered with a large packet in hand. “A message for Mrs. Enjolras,” she said, handing the sealed envelope to Eponine.

“Is that from the embassy?” Reynault asked icily.

Eponine shook her head, noting the postmarks on the brown paper. “It’s from Paris.” She kept the packet on her lap until she could excuse herself from the table, then rushed back up to her room on the third floor.

“Please let it be what I hope it is,” she whispered as she broke the seal on the packet. She tipped out on her desk several bundles of folded papers, as well as a single letter which read:

_May 9, 1842_

_Paris_

_Dear Eponine,_

_I hope this letter will be enough to explain what we have all sent. I do not have much time to write since we are hoping to send this by the morning post today!_

_The bundle I compiled under Fashions contains papers and numbers about the highly fashionable ateliers and milliners in Paris, Lyon, Toulouse, and a few other towns. I also was able to get more about the Alencon lacemakers as well as the rising artisans of the nearby towns. And how could you forget French linen? I’ve included that here too!_

_Nicholine and Grantaire are sending a great deal of writing on liquors: apart from what you probably already know of our French vineyards and wine vintages, there is also a bit on pastis and our other lesser known spirits. Maybe they will catch on too in England, for a select market._

_Therese is sending a booklet on cheeses; more of a guide since the actual production of cheese is affected by a variety of things._

_Some of the other ladies are also sending notes on truffles, acorns, and other things that are either found or grown in our French farms in various regions. There’s also a large bundle about our French artisanship in the realms of furniture and even tiles. One curious article in this set is about the ‘carriage that can be shipped by parts’, an innovation of our northern wheelwrights. Combeferre and Claudine might like this very much._

_Lastly---and this is very interesting---Cosette has gotten Marthe’s help to put together some details not only of her father’s work in glass and beads, but also of other areas. The comparison is very striking, according to Bossuet. Since the English are not consumers of rosaries and other religious items, this is more related to home ornaments and fashionable jewelry. Cosette says she’s told you a bit about this before, in a letter._

_You do not need to do anything for me in return, other than to let me know how helpful all of this was. We are all eager for the news from England, and more eager to hear of how you, Claudine, Combeferre and Neville are getting on._

_Your loving friend,_

_Chetta_

Eponine laughed with disbelief and astonishment at all the material now in front of her. “It will be a good day to get through it all!” she whispered as she began making an index of all of these articles. By the time she was finished, it was nearly time for lunch. ‘ _I should get something proper to eat before managing all of that,’_ she decided as she got up to shake out a cramp in her legs.

A knock sounded on the door. “Ponine, Ambassador Delaroche is downstairs,” Neville said in a whisper. “You’d better hurry before they all start yelling at each other.”

‘ _Haven’t I got something for them!’_ Eponine thought as she snatched up the index she had made and opened the door. “Is it bad?” she asked her brother, who had a discomfited expression as he looked to the stairway.

“If it will be like this all the time, I think we’re better off going home to Paris,” Neville replied. “We can stop there for a day or two, then go to Aix!”

“Aix to get Laure, Julien, and Etienne,” Eponine whispered. The very recollection of her children was a painful twinge in her chest, and she bit her lip hard to hold back a sigh. “I miss them very much, but we can’t come for them till we are done here. Or till Enjolras and Jacques are finished with what they have to do in Italy, but I suspect they’ll be away for longer than we will be.”

“I miss them too,” Neville said. “It’s a good kind of noisy when they are around.”

Eponine nodded by way of agreement before she headed down towards the increasingly loud conversation in the drawing room. She paused at the doorway, just to take in the sight of Delaroche looking from Lamarre to Reynault, who were seated at opposite ends of the room. “Good morning---or is it afternoon already, Citizens? Nice to see you too, Citizen Delaroche,” she greeted.

Delaroche nodded curtly to her. “I was just informed about last night’s unfortunate…incident. Do you not have any copies of the translations with you?” he asked.

“Nothing but my rough notes, and they are hardly complete,” Eponine admitted.

Delaroche scoffed. “See, another useless one. What kind of fiction do you expect to give to the Members of Parliament later this month?” he snapped at his colleagues.

“It won’t be fiction if we get other sources as well.” Eponine held out the index she had made. “These arrived from Paris today. I have the originals.”

Delaroche’s eyes widened at this document while Lamarre and Reynault exchanged confused looks. “Who ordered for all of those?” Reynault asked after a moment.

Eponine stood up straight to look him in the eye. “I did.”

“Who asked you to?”

“Myself. I thought it would be a good idea to add to what we had, then.”

Reynault reddened while Lamarre burst out laughing. “How providential!” the younger diplomat laughed. “We’re saved aren’t we Citizen Delaroche?”

“We shall see,” Delaroche said, carefully scrutinizing the index further. “How soon can you get all of that translated?”

“I s’pose a week, maybe less if I am not disturbed too much,” Eponine said confidently.

Delaroche nodded slowly as he handed the list back to her. “You gentlemen better make sure that nothing hinders her. Perhaps after this I should have more women recommended to join the diplomatic corps,” he said to his colleagues.

Reynault shook his head with dismay. “First Lamarre getting into my business, and now you?” he asked Eponine. “And what good can come of it?”

“Actually getting something finished, Citizen. I s’pose you don’t have much time for it these days with all the visiting you do,” Eponine retorted with a grin before turning on her heel to head back upstairs before the men could say anything more. 


	29. Opinions and Gallantry

**Chapter 29: Opinions and Gallantry**

It only stood to reason that a change in scenery might have helped Enjolras finally get a restful night’s sleep. ‘ _Reason is different from reality, however,’_ he realized when once again he found himself wide awake at the witching hour. This time he did not bother with shutting his eyes in an effort to chase slumber; instead he quickly lit a candle and brought it to the writing table. ‘ _If I am to go sleepless, let there be some good that will come out of it,’_ he resolved.

For the first time in some days, he had no correspondence to answer or catch up on, so instead he brought out a small notebook that he usually kept in his coat. Here he had carefully filed away different observations and points he had picked up throughout the trip. “The matters in Galicia, Asturias, Cantabria and Aragon are straightforward and concern mainly trade, which can be good for everyone on all sides,” he thought aloud as he began to rewrite his notes in a more orderly fashion on a separate sheet of paper.

He left for last his notes on the territories immediately bordering the south of France, if only to give himself some time to get his ideas together. While broadly speaking the question of smuggling in Navarre was one of trade, it also fell along the lines of security and patrols. ‘ _Then there is the agitation in the Basque country and in Catalonia---two regions that the government here in Madrid does not look as kindly on,’_ he thought. ‘ _It would be an expeditious decision to simply stand with the central government on that, but in truth, it would make France complicit with, or even outright siding with a party that tramples on their long-cherished liberty.’_

By the time he finished this rewriting, it was past five in the morning. Instead of trying to catch a few extra minutes of sleep, Enjolras decided to ready himself for the day by washing up and shaving. The feel of cool water on his face as he rinsed was enough to banish the remnants of drowsiness that threatened to creep up on him, but it did not do much for the tempest still in his mind. ‘ _Perhaps it is just a matter of getting used to this city,’_ he told himself as he watched the first pale rays of dawn peeking on the horizon.

It was a long while before he finally heard the sounds of other people waking in the house, prompting him to finally leave his room. When he arrived downstairs, Delgado the _mayordomo_ was walking about with three envelopes in hand. “An invitation for a _merienda cena_ at the house of _Senor_ Placido Rubio,” Delgado said, handing one of these to Enjolras.

“An acquaintance of Ambassador Belmont?” Enjolras inquired in Spanish.

“He is one of the leading citizens in these parts, _Senor_ , a former member of the _Cortes,_ and he is a friend to the other Frenchmen residing in Madrid,” Delgado replied.

‘ _Which probably includes the de Polignacs as well as Citizen du Bellay,’_ Enjolras noted. “How long have you been in the Ambassador’s employ?” he asked after a moment.

“I have been the steward for this official residence even before Ambassador Belmont took this post several years ago,” Delgado said amiably. “He lives in a different but more honest style than his predecessors.”

“How would you say so?”

“The previous ambassadors acted either like Parisians, or like Spanish courtiers. _Senor_ Belmont is neither.”

Enjolras nodded at this observation. “Does he often visit the members of the _Cortes_?”

Delgado frowned. “Only if he has to. It was easier when the _Cortes_ and the Regent agreed, but now that cannot be reconciled and he is caught between both.”

‘ _Consequently that applies to us as well,’_ Enjolras thought even as he heard Belmont on the stairs. “Good morning. We have an invitation for today,” he said, indicating the envelopes that Delgado still had in hand.

Belmont quickly opened the envelope his steward gave to him, then nodded. “This was inevitable; _Senor_ Rubio promised a reception upon my return.” He looked at Enjolras curiously. “What has you up extraordinarily early, my friend?”

“Working on this,” Enjolras said, handing over the notes he had rewritten. “It will make our policy recommendations easier.”

Belmont nodded approvingly. “You must have been quite the note-taker back in your law studies at the Sorbonne.”

‘ _Only with some effort, hence the habit of rewriting,’_ Enjolras thought wryly before going upstairs to knock on Jacques’ bedroom door. “Jacques, it’s time for breakfast,” he called. As he half-expected he did not hear any reply, thus prompting him to knock louder. “Jacques!”

“A few more minutes,” Jacques groaned groggily from behind the door.

‘ _Which will become an hour or two,’_ Enjolras realized. “If you miss it entirely, you will have to manage by yourself,” he said more sternly. “This house is not a luxury hotel.”

After a few moments Jacques opened the door, still half-asleep with his hair sticking up every which way. He yawned for a moment even as he tried to focus his bleary gaze on Enjolras. “Do we have anywhere to be in the morning?”

“We have an appointment in the afternoon, but there is work to do before that,” Enjolras pointed out. Looking over Jacques’ shoulder he caught sight of a candle burned down to its stub right beside what appeared to be drafts of a letter scattered on the bedside table. “I also would suggest you keep reasonable hours for your other activities,” he added.

Jacques turned scarlet. “I lost track of time.”

“Something you would do well to keep track of,” Enjolras said before leaving the boy to make his morning ablutions. ‘ _Barring him from all socialization will not do him good, so there has to be another way to get him to focus on the tasks at hand,’_ he reflected as he returned downstairs.

After breakfast, the three travelers were left to their own devices until it was time to ready for the afternoon reception. Much to Enjolras’ dismay, Jacques made his appearance in a cerulean tailcoat that did not do any favors for his reddish hair and pale complexion. “Clearly, you do not intend to be missed,” Enjolras remarked dryly as he watched Jacques retie a white cravat.

“It isn’t a ball with a specific dress code,” Jacques retorted.

“Yes, but an afternoon reception is definitely not a fancy-dress occasion,” Enjolras pointed out tersely. ‘ _This will be among the differentiations he will have to learn for himself,’_ he decided as he saw Belmont asking Delgado to get a vehicle in order. 

The reception was a short carriage drive away, at a grand residence a mere walking distance from the Plaza del Prado. To take advantage of the relatively clement weather, tables and long seats had been set up in a lush garden, sheltered from the heat by white awnings. A robust, mustachioed gentleman in an evening suit was greeting all the guests entering the gate. “ _Senor_ Belmont! We could not possibly start this without you!” this Spaniard greeted enthusiastically.

“And we would not miss it, _Senor_ Rubio,” Belmont said, clasping this man’s arms. “May I introduce _Senor_ Enjolras and his brother-in-law _Senorito_ Thenardier, our guests from Paris.”

Rubio grinned broadly as he shook Enjolras’ hand, then Jacques’ in turn. “Your reputation precedes you, _Senor_. When we learned you were coming to Madrid it caused quite the stir,” he said to Enjolras.

“Who exactly are you referring to by ‘we’?” Enjolras asked cordially.

“Most of the French immigrants here, and quite a number of respectable persons from Madrid as well,” Rubio said. “When I was still a representative to the _Cortes_ a few years ago, we did not have such distinguished visitors from abroad.”

“There you are _Senor_ Enjolras!” a familiar voice called. The gentlemen turned to see Clarita de Polignac making her way towards them, with a gaggle of young Spanish women in tow. “My friends here are also so thrilled about _Senora_ Enjolras’ writing and have read some of your work too. Therefore, it is such a pleasure for them to meet you as well, _Senor_ ,” she said with a broad smile.

“I’ve relayed your greeting to my wife in my latest letter,” Enjolras informed Clarita. “I am sure she will be thrilled to hear of it, as well as from the rest of you ladies here.”

“Clarita, you never said that _Senor_ Enjolras was this charming!” one of the ladies said, fanning herself more quickly. “I believe that _Senor_ Romero will be jealous,” she added in a whisper.

“You know that is not my intention, Dolores!” Clarita chided her friend.

“ _Senor_ Enjolras, you have to let _Senora_ Enjolras know that her pamphlet on girls’ education has inspired a little…group of ladies who read here in Madrid. We don’t read just the religious texts or novels; we’ve learned to read now from all over,” a third woman chimed in, leaning in confidentially. “Maybe someday it might grow into something more, who knows?”

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face as the sharp odor of perfume hit his nostrils. “She will be very glad to hear of it,” he said. ‘ _Eponine might even be interested in maintaining a correspondence with them.’_

“Clarita, may we gentlemen borrow one of our guests of honor for a little while?” de Polignac asked, now approaching his wife. “Citizen Enjolras, this is your opportunity to speak with some of our countrymen. Citizen du Bellay is not present,” he said to Enjolras in French.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Enjolras said, nodding to the Spanish ladies as well as to Belmont and Rubio. As he followed young de Polignac to a group seated under an awning, he saw that Jacques was blustering as he tried to chat up a group of girls who were hiding their giggles and whispers behind their large feathered fans. ‘ _Clearly the recipient of his letter is not present, or he would have been distracted thoroughly,’_ he noted.

The former French aristocrat nodded to a group of older men who were sipping from large cups of coffee or still smaller ones of chocolate. “This is a respectable gathering, Monsieur de Polignac,” one of the gentlemen said even as his eyebrows rose almost to his hairline.

“None of us is really an aristocrat here in Spain, Monsieur Valois,” de Polignac replied, shrugging off this jibe as he and Enjolras found vacant seats. “Monsieur Enjolras is working with Monsieur Belmont to see what can be done for those of us who have been away from French soil for a while.”

The man named Valois snorted. “You? One of the chief engineers of that rabble-run Republic?” he sneered at Enjolras. “Wasn’t it enough for you blood-drinkers to have killed off a rightful king in Louis XVI, but you had to destroy the Bourbons in 1830, then run out the Duc D’Orleans just two years after?”

“You are free to your opinion regarding that,” Enjolras answered, looking Valois in the eye. “It does not change the fact that the system of monarchy has perpetuated inequalities and inequities, while curtailing the dignity and full faculties of our fellow citizens.”

“With all of that, I am curious that Louis-Philippe was allowed to go into exile,” another former noble said. “I heard, Monsieur Enjolras, that you were among those who simply let him go instead of facing a trial and consequently execution.”

‘ _A most controversial but necessary thing,’_ Enjolras reflected silently, remembering all too well the debates that had ensued in the legislature over this. “Louis-Philippe elected to step down peacefully from the position he had been thrust into in 1830. He had seen history through to its natural course, which is the end of a decrepit system of tyranny. As he did not do anything traitorous to the country and its citizens, it would have been unjust to execute him simply for being a king.”

This noble nodded slowly. “Then it is true that France is not governed by blood-drinkers.”

“Monsieur Brimeu, the very fact that reason and clemency can hold sway in a country is a good sign,” de Polignac pointed out. “My father, God rest him, would have returned home if only his health permitted.”

Valois laughed hollowly. “You are an idealist, de Polignac. What reason can be there in a land ruled by the mob? Were we to return to France, we would find ourselves on equal footing not only with peasants, but even with the direst criminals and low lives? Imagine, those of us with all the benefits of education and experience, to have our votes be considered as no better than the most unschooled fools of our farms!”

“The ignominy from a lack of education and the deprivation of rights to healthy living, respectable work, and opportunities for advancement can be corrected, and that is one of the goals of a Republic, that is to elevate the subject to a citizen or citizenness,” Enjolras said. He realized that more people in the reception had stopped their chatter and were now listening in. “Conversely, it is only an arbitrary accident that elevates the few above the many, and there is no legitimate reason that the Constitution should give more privileges to those who would be ordinary men if not for their titles or peerage.”

De Polignac took a sip of coffee to hide a grin, while Brimeu quite failed to hold back a snort at Valois’ reddening countenance. After a moment Valois stirred his drink as he looked at Enjolras. “It is the obligation of a noble to look out for those under his reach. England has its House of Lords, and they do as well enough to make decisions on the behalf of the individual denizens in each peer’s jurisdiction. Why should the peers of France be deprived of that privilege, or honor that is akin to a father providing care and guidance for his children?”

“It is ignoble to forever treat each man and woman like a child, no matter how benevolent the intention is,” Enjolras began. “Secondly, England also has its House of Commons, with duly chosen Members of Parliament who may not be of the peerage, so its destiny is not decided by the nobility alone.”

Valois turned scarlet again even as more onlookers began to chuckle openly. “You would not understand. What does a _petit-bourgeois_ from Provence know?” he sneered.

Enjolras smirked at this old rejoinder. “How to be a citizen of France, and perhaps of the world as well.”

Brimeu now burst out laughing even as de Polignac thumped the table approvingly amid scattered applause from others standing nearby. “You are lucky then that the climate in Spain agrees with you, Monsieur Valois,” Brimeu said after a moment. “Going home would upset your humors.”

“It is no longer home for me,” Valois muttered, glowering at Enjolras. “It ceased to be once all decency left it in 1830.”

‘ _He is free to that opinion as well,’_ Enjolras thought as Valois left, only to have his place at the table filled by several other garrulous _emigres_ who had been keenly listening in and were now eager to continue the lively conversation. Before long he found himself in the middle of a large group, discussing some of the more recent developments in the French justice system. In the middle of a gentleman’s rather involved story of his early days in Spain, a shout suddenly cut through the air, followed by the crash of a table being flipped over and the raucous hollering that could only accompany a round of fisticuffs.

Enjolras raced over just in time to see Jacques reeling from a punch to the nose, only to launch himself at another boy who was taunting him with an obscene gesture. Enjolras swiftly moved to separate the two youngsters, only to be met with a fist to his jaw. Gritting his teeth, he finally managed to haul Jacques up by the back of his garish coat, while Rubio held back the second boy in this scuffle. “What is the meaning of this?” Enjolras snapped as he grasped Jacques firmly by the shoulder.

“Go ask him! He was the one saying horrible things about a lady!” Jacques retorted, bringing a hand to his now bloody nose.

“He hit me first!” the other boy yelled in Spanish as he tried to get out of Rubio’s hold on both his arms.

“You keep a civilized tongue in your head and your hands to yourself, _Senorito_ Garcia!” Rubio barked, shaking the boy slightly. “Your father will hear about this!”

Enjolras tightened his grip on Jacques, who was trying to shake him off. “That goes for you as well,” he ordered as he half-dragged Jacques to a chair and handed him a handkerchief. He shook his head as he looked at Jacques; apart from a bloody nose, the boy was sure to sport a black eye within the next day or two. “You know better than to comport yourself in this manner.”

Jacques sniffed as he wiped his face. “He called Maria Carmen a _puta_!”

“Would punching _Senorito_ Garcia make him change his opinion?” Enjolras asked icily.

Jacques scowled. “A gentleman cannot let someone just say that about a lady! You don’t just let anyone talk about Ponine like that!”

“I’ve never laid hands on someone to defend your sister’s honor.”

“Because she’d do it herself.”

“That is correct but beside the point,” Enjolras said. He crossed his arms as he saw Jacques hang his head. “Belligerence will not do you any good; it is purposeless if your aim is to win favor or uphold someone’s good name.”

“Then what is a gentleman supposed to do?” Jacques asked.

“Answer it calmly, if he must. Usually however, such accusations must not be dignified with a reply.” Enjolras nodded to Rubio, who was approaching them. “We apologize for this untoward behavior in your house, _Senor_ ,” he said.

“It is only the passionate Spanish temper. And young love,” Rubio said a little ruefully. “Prudence will come with age after all.”

‘ _In most cases,’_ Enjolras thought as he now left Jacques to finish setting himself to rights. He then returned to where de Polignac, Brimeu, and a few others were now conversing with Belmont. “I see that our young scapegrace has had another adventure?” the ambassador quipped.

“A hard lesson learned,” Enjolras replied dryly as he took his seat. At length he saw Jacques get up from sulking in his seat, but only to spend more time chatting with a few youngsters near the refreshments instead of joining any larger groups. The rest of the reception passed without incident and ended just before the customary hour for dinner. After taking leave of their host, Enjolras along with Belmont and Jacques headed back to the Ambassador’s residence.

Delgado met them at the door. “Some letters have arrived for you _Senor_ Belmont as well as for you _Senor_ Enjolras and _Senorito_ Thenardier,” he said, holding out a handful of mail.

Jacques shrugged as he looked over the letters handed to him. “Neville is making me jealous with his letters. He gets to go to parties and outings,” he muttered.

“He is there in England as a civilian and not as a diplomatic representative,” Enjolras reminded him. Most of these were from Paris, but there were a few also posted from Aix and England. ‘ _This of course first,’_ he decided as he found Eponine’s letter and sat down to read it.

The sight of the unfamiliar address at the beginning had him raising an eyebrow, but he let out a breath he did not know he had been holding when he finally read her explanation for the move from Claridges to Piccadilly. ‘ _Unexpected but you will adjust very well, I am sure,’_ he thought even as he went through the rest of the note. The very thought of Eponine facing off against an imperious English leader in Prince Albert had him chuckling, if only for the image of his wife smiling in that way she always did when she was about to make a point that would discomfit someone.

Yet as he reread the letter again, the mention of Eponine’s own troubled sleep suddenly gave him pause. ‘ _Right about the time we were in Zaragoza,’_ he realized. This peculiar fact sent a chill down his back, more so when he went over her descriptions of the dread she had felt. ‘ _A mere coincidence, perhaps,’_ he decided even as he went up to his room to compose a reply.

_May 12, 1842_

_Madrid, Spain_

_Eponine,_

_I am writing to let you know that I have finally received your letter dated on the 4 th of this month, which you sent from your new lodgings. Most likely you have also already received the two other missives I sent dated on the 9th and the 10th. Hopefully, the news and descriptions there have heartened, or at the very least amused you. _

_By the time you read this as well, spring should be swiftly turning to summer. The change in seasons should perhaps help your rest somewhat at least till the Parliament there reconvenes. I believe it will also be a respite even for you, at least for what rest is possible while living in your present accommodations. I am certain that should this problem persist, that either Combeferre or Claudine will be more than happy to assist you with this difficulty. As for any presumption on your friendship with your hostess, I do not believe as of yet that you will be particularly close to Citizenness Calamy. However, your open nature does not preclude making the best of such an acquaintance. Certainly, you will have much more to relate about this matter in your next letter._

_The discussion with Prince Albert could not have gone any other way, as Saxe-Coburg is even more steeped in its ways than England is. It is certain though that you made an impression that will give him and perhaps Queen Victoria much to ponder on. Perhaps, in light of this, it will be only the first of several important meetings you will make for the next months there in England. Each will count as a success, for the truth you speak of cannot be stifled by mere tradition. In the same light it would also greatly interest you to know that your following here in Spain extends beyond just Citizenness de Polignac; her coterie seems to have formed a reading circle of sorts. If this will translate into more than discussion and debate, only time will tell. Nevertheless, the seed of Progress has been planted and its time will surely come even here._

_For the most part, matters have been going well during our stay in Madrid. Apart from a few points which are best handled with discretion, there is little to worry about. The next few days will certainly hold any number of meetings, even if we have yet to secure an invitation to formally meet with the Cortes, their parliament, or their Regent. In the meantime, there is much to discuss with the émigré community here; perhaps some of them will choose to return to France in their own time. Nevertheless, it can safely be said that life here in Madrid suits them, and they would be no worse for the wear for electing to live out the rest of their days here._

_I look forward to hearing from you very soon._

_Yours always,_

_Antoine_

Enjolras set this reply out to dry even as he looked out the window, where he now had a view of the city lanterns slowly being lit as coaches rolled down the cobblestone road. He watched the early evening dark deepen over the city for a few minutes before looking back at the letter, noting once again its relative brevity. ‘ _As it is, she is already ill at ease in Piccadilly. It would not do to worry her excessively,’_ he resolved as he folded the note and sealed it for sending the next day.


	30. Desperate Recourse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some warning here for discussion on addiction and the use of a narcotic (laudanum or opium). And of course trigger warning for extensive depiction of a nightmare and discussion of such.

**Chapter 30: Desperate Recourse**

_Enjolras found that he was suddenly again in that dark room barely lit by the setting moon. He turned around to find the door, but in doing so he lost his balance and fell to the floor. As he tried to get up, he felt a cool hand suddenly on his shoulder, pushing him down. “Did you really think you would get away so easily, Enjolras?” a voice crooned._

_“Go away,” he said even as the face of Celeste Berlioz now materialized in front of him. He felt her nails digging into his skin, almost hard enough to draw blood, even as he tried to shake her grip. “You’re not supposed to be here.”_

_“I don’t think so,” Celeste laughed as she forced him to his knees once more, only inches from the hem of her dress. “You know what you have to do.”_

_“Never.”_

_“You know you want to._

_Enjolras shook his head as he pushed her off and ran for the door. With each step he took the door seemed to recede further and further, hovering on the edge of an increasingly large void. Even as he quickened his pace, Celeste’s laughter continued to ring in his ears as her hands drew ever nearer to him once more._

A yell sounded through the room, snapping Enjolras back to the waking world. ‘ _That voice was mine,’_ he realized as he sat up in an effort to calm his racing heartbeat. His shirt was drenched with cold sweat and now stuck to his chest and back. He quickly took off the offending garment and got up to splash some water on his face. “Several nights and counting,” he muttered, seeing now in the mirror how the dark circles under his eyes were beginning to deepen.

He threw open the window to let in some cool air, in an effort to clear his head. Judging by his watch as well as the darkness outside, it would be a few hours yet till dawn. ‘ _And clarity,’_ he hoped silently even as he got a chair and a pillow ready so he could sleep away from the bed. In this decidedly uncomfortable position, it was much more difficult to fall into slumber, such that he found himself awake another hour or two longer. When he opened his eyes once again, he found himself wincing against the sun shining on his face as well as a crick in his neck. ‘ _Once again, more hours wasted,’_ he realized while he readied for the day and then headed down to the clatter of utensils and the chatter of people in the dining room.

Belmont, who was seated at the head of the table, raised a cup of coffee by way of greeting when he saw Enjolras. “Are you well, my friend?” he asked.

Enjolras nodded. “Only a little trouble sleeping.”

“You’re getting nightmares again,” Jacques chimed in. He wiped his mouth before speaking again. “It’s been going on for a few nights, and I hear you sometimes like I used to when I was little.”

‘ _Trust Jacques to remember that tidbit of all things,’_ Enjolras thought even as he took a seat. “It is a passing matter, as it was before, if you also remember” he deadpanned as he poured himself some coffee.

“Presently you look terrible. Almost gaunt,” Belmont pointed out. “You will need to see a physician, soon. We do not have any appointments today, after our successful dinner last night with the delegates from Castile-and-Leon. Today would be a good opportunity.”

Enjolras sighed deeply as he sipped his coffee; were it not for the stiffness in his neck he would have chosen to forego this errand altogether. ‘ _It would not do well either to fall sick while abroad,’_ he reminded himself. Just as he put a piece of bread on his plate for breakfast, he heard hurried footsteps heading to the dining room, moments before a breathless Delgado appeared.

Belmont nearly dropped a piece of pastry into his coffee at the sight of his harried steward. “What is the matter?”

“A _Senor_ Pasqual here to see you,” Delgado began, looking wide eyed and confused. “Said it was a terribly important matter.”

“With no time to lose!” Pasqual’s loud voice rang through the hall. The Catalan soon made his appearance, with his hair wild from travel and his clothes covered with dust. “Did you receive my letter about what happened to Arriola?”

“I did and then wrote back right away. I had no idea you would be coming all the way here to Madrid,” Belmont said concernedly as he got up to hand the newcomer a cup of water. “Please have a seat.”

Pasqual nodded as he dropped down into the chair nearest him. “Six days riding, from Barcelona to here. It is already the 16th, isn’t it?” he said before taking a long gulp of water. “God knows what will transpire in my absence, but I can at least soften the blow.”

“What do you mean?”

“Foment. Unless demands are met, Barcelona will rise again. I have sent my daughter to stay with relatives, so if there are hostilities she will be well out of the way.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “You would prefer to advance the cause of Catalonian autonomy and distinction, but you are keen to prevent an uprising?”

“There will be blood if Espartero sends troops into Catalonia, the way he has into the Basque region!” Pasqual replied hotly. “If it can be averted by moving matters here, I am willing to take that upon myself.”

“What do you propose then?”

“If you are going to speak with members of the _Cortes_ , then I wish to come along.”

Belmont shook his head. “Speaking as a friend, I sympathize. Speaking as a diplomat, I am bound to act on my country’s behalf and only that.”

“So, you cannot help me?” Pasqual asked.

“Not in that fashion, old friend. There are other ways, but not how you are asking,” Belmont said sorrowfully.

Pasqual looked down and held his head in his hands, shaking his head even when Delgado set down a cup of coffee and a plate of pastries in front of him. “Then I have come all the way here for nothing.”

“Now don’t say that. You are overtired and will need to rest. After that we can figure out together what to do; you have your own contacts here as do I. We will be leaving Madrid by the 29th so we have some time,” Belmont advised. “ _Senor_ Delgado will have your room prepared; he has made sure your horse is stabled and watered”

“A few hours. Just give me a few hours,” Pasqual conceded. He peered at Enjolras curiously. “Are you ill?”

Enjolras drained his cup of coffee. “I should hope not.” He nodded to Belmont. “Could you recommend someone?”

“Doctor Hector Guerrero. He lives just on Plaza de la Cebada, the food market in the Barrio La Latina,” Belmont said. “He is a discreet fellow. Do you wish for any assistance?”

“I think I will manage just fine,” Enjolras replied. He looked at Jacques, who was busily stirring an empty glass. “Please make clean notes of what has transpired last night and give them to Citizen Belmont. They will be needed for a meeting soon,” he instructed.

Jacques looked up. “What sort of notes?”

“A list of what was discussed, and if you can recall, who was speaking on which point.”

“Oh. In French or Spanish?”

“If it will not be troublesome to extend your work, then do both,” Enjolras suggested, only to see the boy blanch. ‘ _That should keep him out of writing letters for a while,’_ he decided even as he watched Pasqual follow Delgado out of the room. Jacques soon followed, muttering a pretext on needing to work early on the notes. 

Belmont leaned back in his chair and pinched his nose. “During our time in Barcelona you were able to speak to Pasqual privately on several occasions. Did he intimate anything about an uprising?” he asked Enjolras.

“No. We spoke on the need to highlight Catalonian education, specifically the language and culture,” Enjolras replied, remembering now the time that Pasqual had met him early in the morning at Belmont’s house. “The only other time was when I went to speak with him about his daughter and Jacques, and even then much of my time there was taken up with the late _Senor_ Arriola.”

“Did he mention any other contacts who wished to speak to you?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Something has happened then in our absence, but it might be that the root of it is in Madrid, not here,” Belmont said thoughtfully. “I am not entirely surprised it has come to this; the north of Spain has no love lost for Madrid, but what worries me is the speed of affairs. Pasqual is a reasonable man, but there are other Catalonians who will be more than willing to take up arms especially if, when matters turn ill in the Basque Region.”

“I would not rule out the possibility of an alliance working there,” Enjolras pointed out.

“Nor would I,” Belmont agreed pensively. “I will try to get some more out of him later, but for today you need to focus on your health. What am I going to ever tell your lovely wife if you should end up falling ill?”

‘ _If Eponine ever found out, she’d fight tooth and nail to get here,’_ Enjolras thought bemusedly. “I will make sure it does not come to that,” he reassured the diplomat.

An hour later Enjolras set out for the Plaza de la Cebada, which was located in one of Madrid’s oldest neighborhoods. The day was pleasant, thus prompting him to walk for most of the way there. ‘ _This is a district from another time,’_ he realized as he passed from a spacious square to a tight and winding street, a clear hallmark of the area’s medieval roots. Many houses here were peculiar in construction, with excessively large first floors, or upper floors that were seemingly absent from the street view but could only be detected by sudden appearances of people on the roofs or sounds coming from within these edifices.

“Those are _casas a la malicia, Senor,”_ an elderly workingman called to Enjolras. “I can see you are new here to Madrid,” he explained.

‘ _A house of malice?’_ Enjolras wondered. “Please explain,” he asked this stranger.

The older man laughed till he wheezed. “It was a measure against the Spanish royal court, _Senor_. The King used to require every household to house at least one official in half the space of their homes, usually the upper floor. Well many wouldn’t have that, so they made their dwellings so impossible for it.”

Enjolras could not help but smile at this trick. “And then what happened?”

“Well there was a tax for it, but that is a small price to pay,” the workingman said gamely. “You do not have kings where you are from?”

Enjolras shook his head. “Not for some years now.”

“Ah! What sort of country is that?”

“A free one.”

The workingman nodded curiously. “Then you must be from France, which is to the north. Your accent gives you away, _Senor_ , and that sort of talk too.” He looked around shiftily. “You need to be careful with it though. You never know who’d be listening.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras concurred. “Would you know where the Plaza de la Cebada is located?”

The workingman thought for a moment. “From here you take a left, then take the second right. Follow that long road to the end, take a right and then you should be there.”

“Thank you, _Senor_ ,” Enjolras said, even as he tried to commit these convoluted instructions to memory. He passed through the narrow streets that were little more than alleys, taking care to avoid the various potholes and puddles of various questionable liquids. At last he found himself greeted by a burst of light as he stepped out into a crowded plaza filled with open stalls and colorful tents. ‘ _A little more like Paris, but less so,’_ he observed, breathing in the air which had a tinge of the aromas of peppers and bay leaves. ‘ _Which we call laurels in France,’_ he could not help thinking; this wordplay brought before his mind’s eye the image of his eldest child and her impish smile. ‘ _In due time, we’ll meet in Aix again,’_ he resolved.

After some queries Enjolras finally found Doctor Guerrero’s house in one of the shaded nooks of this square. He stopped before the weatherworn door and rang a slightly rusty bell hanging from the jamb. “Good morning. Is the doctor present now?” he asked when the door opened a crack and a young boy peered out.

“He’s inside, and who might you be?” the boy asked.

“A patient needing a consult,” Enjolras replied, adjusting the hat that covered his hair. After a few moments he saw the door open more widely, and this time a tanned, burly man stepped forward, his hair gleaming with fresh sweat. “Good morning Doctor Guerrero,” Enjolras greeted him in careful Spanish.

The physician gave him a once-over and motioned for him to step inside. “You’re that French statesman, Enjolras?” he asked, his tone akin to a commandant surveying a new recruit.

Enjolras nodded and doffed his hat. “That is my name.”

“What brings you here to my abode?”

“I would like to consult with you on a medical matter.”

Doctor Guerrero nodded slowly before motioning for Enjolras to follow him to a side door, which opened into an airy room featuring wooden shelves of books and various bottles of different colors. A table for consults stood in the middle of this space, while a comfortable looking couch was pushed against one wall. The doctor took a seat in a large padded chair behind the desk. “What exactly ails you?” he asked.

“I only have a little trouble sleeping,” Enjolras answered.

Doctor Guerrero nodded. “Every night, or just last night?”

“For most evenings over the past fortnight.”

“And are you in any pain or discomfort?”

Enjolras shook his head. “Only what is to be expected after some unrestful nights, especially on the road. Last night I slept in a chair.”

“Very well then. You aren’t giving to high living with lots of drink and rich food?”

“I do not imbibe, and I try to moderate what I eat.”

Doctor Guerrero hummed as he brought out a long pipe with one end shaped like a bell. “Allow me to examine you for a moment, _Senor_ ,” he said, motioning for Enjolras to face him. He was silent as he took the younger man’s pulse, checked his ears and eyes, and then finally auscultated his chest. “Well this is exactly what I suspected. Your disorder is not organic, meaning it does not stem from any physical ailment,” he pronounced.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Yet there is still a disorder?”

“One of the head, or perhaps the heart,” Doctor Guerrero said, striking his own breast for emphasis. “From what I hear, you are not of a nervous disposition. Have you experienced any sort of trouble, perhaps with a love affair?”

“No.”

“No shock or fright recently?”

“I would consider it more of an unsettling incident. Our lodgings in Zaragoza were intruded upon, and I had an altercation with the person concerned.”

“A violent one?”

“Yes, but what does this have to do with lacking sleep?”

“I have seen it before, when I was still with the militia.” Doctor Guerrero considered Enjolras pensively for a moment. “It varies for each man, but it is not unheard of for those who have taken part in combat or even witnessed it to experience similar upsets for a time after. Usually it passes.”

‘ _I never had these sorts of nightmares about being at the barricades,’_ Enjolras thought. “And what of the cases when it does not?”

“Usually such men are discharged from the corps and must recover their nerves and constitutions at home or in some restful situation.” Doctor Guerrero sighed deeply and rubbed his temples. “Your case is rather unique since you are not a military man. Perhaps returning to France would serve you well.”

“That is not possible at this time,” Enjolras pointed out.

“Well then, we must resort to other means,” the physician said as he got to his feet and went to his collection of bottles. “I can deduce that part of this disorder includes nightmares and perhaps being awoken at inopportune hours. It is good that there does exist a means to abolish these disturbances,” he added as he produced a large bottle, which he set on the desk.

Enjolras peered closely at the handwritten label on the amber bottle. “Laudanum?”

Doctor Guerrero nodded. “You are familiar with it?”

“I’ve seen its uses,” Enjolras replied. ‘ _Combeferre had to bring it out when amputating Neville’s foot,’_ he recalled, seeing before him now that hot and stifling room wherein the operation had been conducted while Neville squirmed and cried against his grip as well as Eponine’s and Claudine’s. “But it is not to be taken lightly,” he muttered.

“It is effective however, and used for a variety of other ailments,” Doctor Guerrero answered. “But against these sorts of ills it is particularly potent.”

“Yet it is habit forming?”

“If one is of a weak character used to imbibing, perhaps.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth as he considered the gleaming bottle once more. “Are there other preparations you would suggest?”

“None that work as well as this,” the physician said. “With all honesty you are but a few days from falling ill; a dose that will ensure a restful night is preventive in this case. I would not spurn such help if it is already available.”

‘ _It is not as if I can readily write to Combeferre or Joly to provide an assessment from afar,’_ Enjolras decided. He took a deep breath and set both hands on the desk. “Very well then, I will procure a little of it, only to take as needed.”

“Only when sleep completely escapes you, and all measures are exhausted,” Doctor Guerrero called for someone to bring him a vial, which was fetched promptly. He carefully measured out a small amount into the vial and stopped it up. “I would suggest diluting this with some wine or brandy, to take the edge off the taste.”

“Will it not change the effect?”

“Not materially.”

Enjolras swallowed hard as he brought some coins out of his coat pocket and set them on the table. “Thank you for your time and counsel, Doctor Guerrero.”

The physician nodded as he pressed the vial into Enjolras’ hand. “Use it well, and sparingly. Though I do not fear that you will form a habit.”

Enjolras nodded gravely as he pocketed the medicine, feeling the vial’s heaviness in his hand.


	31. Matters Not Needing Translation

**Chapter 31: Matters Not Needing Translation**

One advantage that Eponine found in their party’s move to Piccadilly was that she was able to work undisturbed on her translations for longer periods of time. ‘ _It does help to not have people running up and down all the time,’_ she mused one morning as she shook out a cramp in her hands, a result from writing almost as soon as it was dawn.

She glanced at the growing pile of papers on her desk; apart from the material that Musichetta and their friends had sent from Paris, there were also some additional tracts that the diplomats had sourced for translation and annotation. To top it off, she also had recently received a set of lengthy letters from her in-laws in Aix, detailing various aspects of the agriculture of Provence. She took a sip from a rapidly cooling cup of coffee at her elbow; this was all that was left of a tray of breakfast brought up a while earlier. ‘ _Another hour, then I should be done with this troublesome one,’_ she thought as she picked up her pen once more to begin working on a piece that she had spent most of the morning on.

A knock sounded on the bedroom door. “Eponine, can you be spared for a minute?” Claudine asked.

“Only a minute,” Eponine quipped as she set down her pen and got to her feet. She opened the door to let her friend in. “Anything you need?”

“More like something you will want,” Claudine said with a grin, holding out three letters. “Ambassador Delaroche also sent word; you are needed this afternoon along with Citizen Reynault.”

“Oh?”

“Something to do with Members of Parliament.”

‘ _Then Lord Griffiths was not the only one who stayed behind in London,’_ Eponine thought as she took the letters. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to do much with you all this time in London. I know we talked of going to a show or two,” she said.

“Eponine, remember that we qualified it as happening if we both have time,” Claudine pointed out, touching the younger woman’s arm. “Maybe once those translations are done and the Ambassador has made use of them, we will have a day or two for it.”

“I hope so. Thank you for bringing up the letters. I’ll _try_ to join you all for luncheon,” Eponine said before Claudine left the room. Once she was alone, she looked down confusedly at the letters in her hand, for they had come from the same location. ‘ _Either the mail is delayed, or for some reason Antoine has decided to write twice because he cannot help but do so,’_ she thought as she broke the seals on each missive.

The first letter was maddeningly brief, to the point she shook her head with dismay. “Maybe he makes up for it with the second,” she whispered as she opened Enjolras’ next letters. These two, while not substantially longer, had her smiling for the news it contained. ‘ _He’s well and with new friends, and at least he’s telling a few more things,’_ she noted contentedly as she returned to her translation work. Only after she was done with the article did she begin her reply:

_May 19, 1842_

_72 Piccadilly London, England_

_My dearest Antoine,_

_Today I want to let you know that I received not just one but three of your letters written from May 10 up to May 12. I suppose the post has decided it would be better to send them this way, considering the distance between here and Madrid. I am so glad to know that you are well and meeting with all sorts of interesting people. The way you describe Madrid makes me feel warm all over, like I was walking there with you under the sun. The part about all the churches is a little unsettling, and I can only imagine what headache sufferers must put up with hour by the hour._

_It is so curious that the things that we ladies have written in Paris have made their way as far as Madrid. Do you think you can ask Citizenness de Polignac or her friends if they read it in the original French or if it was already translated into Spanish? I dearly wish to write too to them, so please ask them if it would be fine to provide addresses to send them to, or if I should simply course everything via the embassy. It would be lovely to ask them what they think of all these ideas, and if they can be applied somewhat to Spanish society. I wonder what the men think of this, or maybe they are not so forward with their opinions on women’s affairs as they are in France and sometimes even here in England._

_Even so far away you worry about me so---and I worry about you too. This is why I want to let you know that I am well too. That troublesome night only happened once, and I have slept a little better since. You are right that I now have much more to discuss about Citizenness Calamy and even Citizenness Williamson---I am sure that you have by now read my letter introducing her into my stories. I would say we get along fairly well; Citizenness Calamy has been gracious enough to let me do days upon days of translating uninterrupted and she has been solicitous all throughout. I do try to repay her with whatever kindness that occurs to me during what time I can have away from my desk. Citizenness Williamson visits time and again, and she’s been more than happy to show the others around London when the weather permits._

_Being alone much of the time to do all this translating allows me to think and remember a bit, especially when I have the candles set out. I remember the way the light catches in your hair when we are locked up together for hours over our work. I remember how you laughed at our little mishap the time we had to wait out a storm in Lorraine, and we had but one book between us to pass the time. There’s a smile you have, that I think I am the only one to have ever seen, and I miss very much each day here._

_Please let me know if my next letter to you should be forwarded to your port of call at Valencia or if I should send straight through to Italy. I know you hope that our correspondence will be easier but counting the days for our letters to get here and there does not make it seem so. Also please remind Jacques to write. With three of your letters arriving at once, I hoped to get at least one from him but I do not have a single word._

_With all my love,_

_Eponine_

By the time she had this letter dried and sealed, she could already hear the sounds of lunch being served downstairs. “Let’s make one trip of this,” she decided as she tucked the letter in her skirt pocket before scooping up the translations she had just finished. She carefully carried these downstairs to the dining room, where the Calamys, the Combeferre and Neville were listening to Williamson’s telling of a raucous nautical story. “Am I late?” she asked as she set down the papers on a sideboard.

“No you’re right on time; Mrs. Combeferre said you’d be joining us and I wouldn’t have to send a tray up. Mr. Reynault and Mr. Lamarre have gone quickly to the Embassy but should be back soon,” Victoria said amiably, nodding for Eponine to take a seat. “Mr. Williamson here---”

“I was telling a story but I must interrupt myself,” Williamson said, looking Eponine over with some disdain. “You do not mean to wear _that_ to the meeting with the MPs today, do you?”

Eponine glanced down at her simple blue dress. “Of course, I intend to change into something to actually wear for visiting,” she said, raising her chin.

“Good. For a moment, I was worried you’d go looking like a peasant,” Williamson said before Admiral Calamy cuffed him.

“Mr. Williamson, please,” Victoria said reprovingly. “You don’t have to wear anything as ridiculous as that court dress you wore to Saint James. It’s an afternoon call in the area of Southwark, so you can just put on something a little dressier.”

“The maroon one will do nicely then,” Eponine said, looking knowingly at Claudine. ‘ _If I am known at home for being the Rose of the Radicaux, then that is what these MPs shall see,’_ she told herself as she put some meat on her plate.

Williamson cleared his throat to continue his story but before he could open his mouth the dining room door clattered open again. “I see we are right on time for luncheon!” Reynault exclaimed as he entered, with Lamarre following soon after and rubbing his own temples, while Delaroche brought up the rear.

“Consider it merely a restorative before your afternoon’s work,” Lamarre muttered. “Have you made any more progress with your translations?” he asked Eponine.

“It is steady work,” Eponine replied, getting up to fetch the papers from the sideboard. She handed these to Delaroche. “I still have a few more to work on, but this should add something to what I’ve given you these past few days.”

“And so they shall,” Delaroche pronounced. He looked to Williamson, who seemed rather put out at having been interrupted once more .“Mr. Williamson, you have my thanks in advance for this assistance in securing a meeting. Rest assured this will not be forgotten.”

Neville let out a belch, which he only remembered at the last second to muffle with a napkin. “Since we can’t get in with the Lords, we go in with the other members of Parliament?”

“That is precisely the plan,” Delaroche said. “It is fortunate that some of them elected to remain in town even during the recess.”

‘ _I wonder who they might be,’_ Eponine thought. She reached into her pocket for her letter and handed it to Lamarre. “Could you please make sure it gets posted this afternoon? It takes an awful long time for letters to reach Madrid,” she asked.

Lamarre nodded. “And how does Citizen Enjolras fare in Madrid?”

“Very well, but they are not quite finished with their business there,” Eponine answered before taking her seat once again as Williamson resumed his storytelling. After their repast she excused herself to prepare for the meeting. After setting her desk in order and packing a few important papers in an envelope, she changed into the dress she intended to wear for the meeting. ‘ _It isn’t an evening call, so this will do for being a little smart and fancy,’_ she thought as she donned a lace collar and cuffs.

When she arrived downstairs again, she saw Combeferre pacing the front hall, holding a letter in hand. “Something the matter?” she asked.

“This letter is from Courfeyrac. According to him, he posted some news a few days ago but I never got the message. It was supposed to carry something from Feuilly too,” Combeferre said, showing her the note briefly.

“I s’pose there’s some mishap in the mail?”

“Maybe but if that is the case, shouldn’t all our letters be missing? A few still come through, and in batches at that.”

Eponine shrugged. “We could ask at the Embassy if something has gone amiss. Maybe it was just misplaced.”

Combeferre shook his head. “Do you have any missing letters?”

“No one has ever told me that letters are missing, either from France or Spain,” Eponine answered, now thinking back on the pile of correspondence in her luggage. “Then again, only Antoine really keeps track of the letters he sends, with the date and all.”

“Francois! Have you seen any other letters?” Claudine called, racing downstairs. She too was holding a note. “Therese Bahorel said she sent me something interesting, and it _should_ have arrived last week, but nothing of it. She’s asking about it now in her latest letter.”

“None of it, and I was just asking Eponine if she’d seen anything unusual with her mail as well,” Combeferre replied.

Claudine bit her lip as she looked at Eponine. “You might want to check how many letters you do have. I’m only realizing now that our correspondence is incomplete, and that some things do not add up.”

‘ _Maybe this is why Antoine’s letters are the only ones I have today, and there are no others from Paris right now,’_ Eponine thought as she hurried back upstairs. She brought out from her belongings the various letters she’d received, and quickly sorted them according to sender. ‘ _It is not like Azelma to not send much, and I have very little word from Feuilly, Bahorel, or even Gavroche,’_ she realized, feeling a pit grow into her stomach.

She quickly stashed these letters into one of her valises, locked it, and pocketed the key before running back downstairs. “I’m a fool to not have seen it sooner. Some letters _might_ be missing; I don’t have proof of it only that some of us haven’t sent very much,” she breathlessly told Combeferre and Claudine.

“Who?”

“Feuilly, Bahorel, and even Azelma and Gavroche.”

Claudine’s eyes widened. “As for me, some of my letters from Therese are missing and also from Joly, Bossuet, Grantaire and Nicholine.”

“How odd! They write to me and their letters go through just fine!’ Eponine exclaimed. “And you, Combeferre?”

“I believe I have one letter missing from Courfeyrac, and one or two missing from Enjolras,” Combeferre said, rubbing the rim of his spectacles. “He never mentioned anything to you?”

Eponine shook her head. “He doesn’t tell me what he writes to you, of course.”

“I should ask Citizen Lamarre how we can sort this out,” Combeferre muttered. He looked to Claudine, who had a hand on his arm, and then smiled at Eponine. “Good luck with your meeting. You’re very prepared for this.”

“As prepared as I ever can be,” Eponine murmured even as she saw Delaroche, Reynault, and Williamson exiting the drawing room. “Will we go now, gentlemen?” she asked.

“Straightaway, if we are to reach Southwark on time,” Williamson said as he opened the door to show them to a waiting barouche with its rear hood already drawn up. “Ladies first,” he said to Eponine.

“Thank you, Mr. Williamson,” Eponine said, readily helping herself into the carriage even without taking the Englishman’s hand for assistance. She found herself a little squashed in the front-facing carriage seat, with Delaroche taking up most of it. In the rear-facing seat, Williamson had a similar predicament, and was doing his best not to complain with how Reynault had practically spread himself out in the limited space. ‘ _It will be a long ride to Southwark,’_ she thought, looking out the window just so she would not be inadvertently drawn into any arguments among the men.

Unlike the area of Mayfair, Southwark was a particularly busy side of London; here grand residences stood side by side with ancient inns, spas, and taverns, as well as newer developments such as rows of housing. “If you go further that way, you will see what we call Bedlam,” Williamson said to Eponine as the barouche passed by a crowded street. “It is an asylum for lunatics.”

“What is done to them there?” Eponine asked.

“They are kept there for their safety and moral correction,” Williamson said. “Once, visitors were allowed to have a look at them, but now they are shut up. So much the better, even if lunatics are said to be amusing at times.”

‘ _That’s the sort of place I would have been put in years ago after the Gorbeau House robbery, if such a place existed in Paris then,’_ Eponine thought as she crossed her arms. “If I was sick as that, I wouldn’t want strangers gawping at me all the time. Nor would I want to be locked away either.”

“Often they hardly know what is going on anyway,” Williamson said dismissively. “Dr. Maturin sometimes would allow asylum-men aboard the Surprise, the more useful ones that is. Made for interesting times at sea.”

Eponine shook her head with disgust, but when she looked to Delaroche and Reynault, both men were fast asleep. ‘ _Probably just as well,’_ she decided as the carriage turned towards a road lined with restaurants and bistros. “Ah, we aren’t meeting in a house?” she asked.

“Not this time. Southwark is known for its restaurants and leisure, and it would be a shame not to have a little of good English cooking while you are in London,” Delaroche said as the carriage came to a stop. “This is a favorite of some of us in the embassy.”

As they alighted from the carriage Eponine caught sight of a wooden sign hanging from the doorway, with a painting of a railway carriage. ‘ _This place is new then,’_ she realized as she stepped into the pub, which much to her surprise was well lit and looked a little closer to a Parisian café than a rough eating establishment. She caught sight of a handwritten menu posted on one wall, only to furrow her brow when she got a better look at the items. ‘ _What on earth are cockles, black sausages, and a Welsh rarebit?’_ she wondered.

In the meantime, Delaroche doffed his hat to a group of six gentlemen gathered around a table, smoking and picking at a pie. “Good afternoon, good Sirs. I hope we haven’t kept you waiting long,” he greeted.

“Not at all,” the oldest in this group of Englishmen said. This man eyed Eponine critically from head to toe. “This is the time for a serious discussion, not for frivolity,” he said.

“Mrs. Enjolras here is our translator,” Delaroche said. “I’d also like to introduce my colleague Mr. Reynault of the French diplomatic corps. You of course all know Mr. Williamson,” he added before introducing the rest of the MPs at the table.

One of the younger men did a double take after all the introductions were finished. “Madame, any relation to the French statesman Antoine Enjolras?” he asked Eponine.

Eponine smiled as she took a seat. “He’s my husband,” she replied in English.

A murmur sounded among the gentlemen at the table. “The Rose of the _Radicaux_ ,” a third man whispered before smiling at Eponine. “Welcome to London, Madame Enjolras. It is not every day that we are in the company of such an exceptional lady.”

“Well now we have other uses for bluestockings, as her presence here proves,” the oldest MP muttered. “What then have you got for us, Ambassador Delaroche?”

“I will give the floor to Mr. Reynault and Mrs. Enjolras,” Delaroche said as he brought out the papers that Eponine had translated that morning, along with some other finished work from earlier in the week.

Eponine took a deep breath as she glanced at Reynault, who merely nodded. It had been a while since she had to do some translation in the context of a conversation, hence she could not quite quash that frisson of anxiety in her chest. ‘ _But I at least know the material,’_ she reassured herself; every bit of paper that Reynault had to present had passed through her hands first.

It seemed to be an eternity till at last Reynault finished his presentation, and still longer to field the questions coming from the different MPs. By the time all discussion was finished, it was past eight in the evening. “It would seem that you have given us quite a lot to think on, Ambassador Delaroche,” one of the MPs said to him. “How did you come across such a wealth of information?”

“Our embassy maintains a good stock of updated facts and figures,” Reynault cut in.

It was all that Eponine could do not to roll her eyes even as she translated this into English. “It is something that _citizens and citizennesses_ contribute to,” she added.

“A most interesting venture. Thank you for your assistance Madame,” the MP said, tipping his hat to her.

As soon as the last MP left the pub, Williamson applauded slowly. “Very fine performance. It would have been better without the need for translation,” he remarked, eyeing both Reynault and Eponine knowingly.

“The trade portfolio has been mine for some time, so I know it best,” Reynault said.

“The portfolio can be learned, can it not?”

“Gentlemen, this is a time to celebrate,” Delaroche cut in. He grinned at Eponine. “Magnificent work, Citizenness. Now what of this fine menu do you wish to eat, for our celebratory meal this evening?”

Eponine looked more cautiously at the menu, still unsure what to make of the items lined up there. “What exactly is a Welsh rarebit?” she finally asked.

“To put it bluntly: hot bread and hot cheese,” Delaroche laughed. “We will need something more substantial than that!”

Williamson glared at him. “I actually enjoy Welsh rarebit. We can have some hot gammon—which you could call a side of meat---to go with it.”

‘ _To think I thought that naming a vegetable dish ‘ratatouille’ was bad enough,’_ Eponine thought even as she perused the menu again. At that moment a loud crash sounded from outside, followed by the neighing of panicked horses. She quickly raced to the door, nearly tripping over Williamson and Delaroche in the process. “What was that?” she asked, peering out into the night.

Williamson’s jaw dropped as he looked to the right, where a wrecked carriage now blocked off half the road. The coachman was lying insensible on the curb, still in danger of being trampled by the fleeing horses. “My barouche!”

Eponine ran forward, even as she caught sight of a figure fleeing the scene. “Help me get him!” she shouted over her shoulder as she ran to catch up with this shabbily clothed vandal. As the man turned a corner she put on a burst of speed, allowing her to grab him from behind. The man struggled against her grip even as she tried to pinion his arms behind his back. “Who do you work for?” she demanded as she forced him to the ground, using her knee as leverage.

The man spat at her feet. “What are you going to do about it?”

Eponine gritted her teeth as she tried to keep her hold on this man, even as she caught sight of Delaroche and Williamson now running up to her. “I’ve got him. Has anyone called the bobbies?”

“Bobbies? You mean the police?” Williamson asked before glaring down at the vandal. He took off his belt and looped it around the man’s wrists. “You can let him up now before he throws you off. Who taught you to wrestle?”

“That wasn’t wrestling,” Eponine pointed out even as she reluctantly stepped back to allow Delaroche and Williamson to pull the now whimpering vandal to his feet. At that moment she saw a piece of paper fall out from this man’s waistcoat pocket. Before anyone could say anything she quickly bent to rescue it from the mud. “The most important clue,” she said, holding it up.

Delaroche glanced at the note. “It’s not in English.”

‘ _Nor is it in French,’_ Eponine realized as she got a better look at the wrinkled scrap. Yet something about the words seemed a little akin to this language, but with significant differences. ‘ _I’d know if it was patois,’_ she told herself.

Williamson got a look at the note and blanched. “Keep it. I’ll have Julia read it when we get back,” he said in French.

“What is it?” Eponine asked.

“I’ll explain when we get inside. Not here,” Williamson muttered even as a police patrol now approached the scene.


	32. The Great Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This goes into some backstory for our British characters. Dr. Maturin's backstory here is mixed a bit with events from the Master and Commander movie, as well as some details from the Aubrey-Maturin books.

**Chapter 32: The Great Game**

Even though it was still rather early in the evening, it took some time before Delaroche was able to find two hackney coaches for their now-stranded party. ‘ _Everyone will probably be abed by the time we get back,’_ Eponine thought during the quiet ride all the way back to Piccadilly in the cab she shared with Williamson. Much to her surprise however, the windows were all alit in Number 72 when they arrived. “They waited up for us, I think!” she exclaimed.

“Julia will have kept them going with her stories,” Williamson pointed out as he opened the door for her. He glanced over his shoulder. “Mr. Reynault will see the Ambassador back to his residence first, I presume?”

“I s’pose he should; he does not like to keep late hours,” Eponine said as she walked towards the sound of lively conversation in the drawing room. She peered in and found, just as Williamson predicted, Julia in the middle of telling a long story to the Combeferres, the Calamys, as well as Neville and Lamarre. “Do we still have any coffee left?” Eponine asked by way of greeting.

“I could heat some up. What took you all so long?” Victoria asked, getting to her feet.

“A minor mishap,” Williamson replied. He took a deep breath as he sat by Julia. “The mishap actually happened to our barouche. A vandal staved it in, and our poor coachman Baxter has been taken to one of the Southwark infirmaries.”

Julia’s jaw dropped. “What, the barouche? We hardly finished paying for it!”

“There is no other way of saying it, unfortunately,” Admiral Calamy chimed in. “The fool was drunk or simply up to no good, no doubt, for him to destroy a carriage for no reason.”

“But maybe there was a reason,” Eponine pointed out, bringing forward the note that she had found at the scene. She met Julia’s worried gaze. “Mr. Williamson said you could read it.”

“It’s in Italian,” Williamson explained.

“How is it that you know the language?” Claudine asked Julia curiously.

Julia’s cheeks reddened slightly as she took the note. “My mother was very much in love with the opera, and I picked it up to keep up,” she said. Her eyebrows shot up after a few moments. “Are you sure it was a vandal you got this note from?”

“Why would you say so?” Williamson asked.

“It reads as this,” Julia cleared her throat. ‘ _Good sir, this serves as a receipt for services rendered. Present this at the green that has no grass at past midnight for your renumeration, which will be given upon surrender of the acquired documents.’_

“He means Clerkenwell.” All eyes turned to where Victoria now stood, coffeepot in hand. “Where did you get that note?” she asked slowly.

“We found it on the vandal who was apprehended tonight,” Williamson replied.

“Do the police know about it?”

“They disregarded it as a scrap.”

Victoria gritted her teeth as she looked at Eponine. “Did the vandal make off with anything from you?”

“No, we were careful about that,” the younger woman said.

Victoria nodded as she put down the coffeepot on a side table and then took the note out of Julia’s hands. “Excuse me for a moment,” she said before leaving the room.

Admiral Calamy quickly got up to retrieve the coffeepot to place it in the middle of the room. “It’s brewed fresh if you want some,” he said to Eponine.

“Thank you, I’ll have only a little,” Eponine replied, finding an empty cup on a tray. As she poured herself some coffee, it was all she could do not to look towards the hall where Victoria had seemingly disappeared off to. ‘ _What might she do with it?’_ she wondered as she set down the pot.

It was at that moment that the drawing room door swung open, admitting a ruddy and jovial Reynault. “Is that fresh coffee I smell?” he greeted.

“Is the Ambassador safe?” Williamson asked him.

“Certainly, I saw him off at his residence,” Reynault said as he swaggered to the middle of the room as best as his bulk would allow. “Say could someone pour me a cup?”

As everyone began looking for another empty cup to give Reynault, Eponine took the opportunity to slip out to the hall. ‘ _Apart from the morning room, which I am sure she isn’t at, she can only be at the study,’_ she thought as she quietly made her way through the hall. She stopped before a door from behind which she could hear the murmur of conversation growing slowly louder and louder.

“Do you seriously think I do not know the work of a novice, or a novice under some director, when I see it?” Victoria’s voice said tersely. “I could understand my correspondence and Peter’s going missing; it wouldn’t be the first time. But this house, my house was broken into and papers stolen. My guests’ correspondence has been intercepted somewhere, and they are still trying to find out how that could be so. And now this note, from clearly a hired thug who I have reason to expect would have harmed my friend and my guests if he had been given the opportunity to. You cannot tell me that there is _nothing_ going on!”

“Some would say the links between these events are merely circumstantial,” Dr. Maturin’s voice said gravely.

“Circumstantial! Wasn’t that how the authorities in Malta explained away what we had done there? Or that stranding in Crete? Or even what on earth was Peter’s squadron doing by blockading a stretch of North Africa—and coincidentally that was where Bonaparte’s allies were trying to raise support after he escaped from Elba but before he was defeated at Waterloo?” Victoria was now beginning to pace, judging by the sound of footsteps occasionally passing by the door. “It may be easy to sign it off that way, but it won’t work, not forever.”

“Might I remind you, you participated in all those actions very willingly,” Dr. Maturin said more seriously. “You and I were willing participants, while your husband and of course Jack---God rest him—were complicit.”

“What choice did we have then?” Victoria hissed. “Fear of invasion, yes, but that was good and done after Trafalgar.”

“To keep the world safe from tyranny.”

“And after Bonaparte was done, then what was all that for? What was that line--- _dulce et decorum est pro patria mori?’_

Out in the hall, Eponine bit her lip as she stepped away from the door. ‘ _I really should not be listening to this,’_ she thought, but all the same she could not bring herself to return to the drawing room. Instead she went to the nearby stairwell and pressed an ear to the wall to try to catch some snatches of the conversation there.

“You and I both volunteered to serve the Admiralty, albeit for different reasons,” Dr. Maturin pointed out. “I have a homeland to fight for, as do you. The peace we desire for both is at best a dream, at worst an illusion.”

“I’ve long accepted it would never come, not in my lifetime or my children’s.” Victoria let out a bitter laugh. “My children! They suffered the most from all those years that Peter and I spent away on those missions, being flung to whatever corner of the world when you or Sir Joseph Blaine wished for it. Do you know how many times I came back to England only to have my Edward say he would be at sea again, or my Phyllis turn away from my embrace? They do not know me anymore, and that is irreversible. A ship is no place to raise a child, yes, but what good is a mother in absentia?”

“At any point you could have left, Victoria.”

“I know. And I always told myself I would have one last mission, one last adventure. I stood by Sir Joseph all those years, then by you for as long as we served the Admiralty as its intelligence agents. I gave up nearly everything----my family, my good name, my social standing, my youth to defend a mad monarch and his Regent. For King and Country indeed!”

A chair moved, as if Dr. Maturin had gotten out of his seat. “You are hysterical, Victoria. Yes, the years have been heavy on you, but what does this have to do with tonight?”

“Because it ends here tonight,” Victoria seethed. “Do you know what happened the last time we—you, me, and Peter—were in France? When we delivered that assassin Magnon to Paris for the work he wanted to do? Did you know that he almost killed your student Combeferre out there, and indeed did kill some innocents? Fifteen dead in one morning. Those were fifteen people that, in other circumstances, I would have been sworn to protect or at least shield from harm during my missions. But I did not, we did not, and we have paid long and dear for it.”

“And you consider our friends there still as innocent bystanders to this whole affair?” Dr. Maturin asked.

“Because they did not ask to be caught up with any of this, with any affairs that should not be their own,” Victoria pointed out. “This game we have been running for years has taken all of me, and I’ll be damned if it takes another unwitting soul with it.”

‘ _Who exactly does she mean?’_ Eponine wondered, but the chill coursing down her back was an answer enough. She shut her eyes for a moment, only to see once more before her mind’s eye the blood and chaos of that morning when Olivier Magnon had thrown two grenades into the middle of a campaign rally. She sipped her coffee as she listened once more, but for a time all was silent save for the sound of breathing as well as her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

At length, Dr. Maturin cleared his throat. “Then what do you propose to do?”

“I will get to the root of it, be it in London or elsewhere,” Victoria answered. “At the very least I will help them recover their mail---if it is still possible---or at least find out why it has been taken, and by who.”

“You know the matter will not simply be finished in the French embassy or the post office.”

“Yes, which is why I am requesting, no, I am asking that you please help me here. You will not need to do anything except tell me where I must look. You need not give me names, I will find them out myself and keep them safe.”

“Years ago, you abhorred the French with a passion. I am surprised at this sudden change, old friend.”

“Old indeed. We should have stopped being volunteers many years ago. You most especially, good Doctor.”

For a while the room was silent again, but when Eponine pressed her ear to the wall she could hear the faint sound of a pen scratching against paper. “For some time, they have been coming to London and settling in Clerkenwell. I made sure to ask a contact there to sell a book or two to Combeferre, which of course passed into my hands and I made use of,” Dr. Maturin said. “For the most part there is nothing to fear from the immigrants there, save for those who have arrived on our shores to act as the eyes and ears of the kingdoms in the Mediterranean.”

“Including the Papal States?”

“My dear Victoria, everything to some degree answers to Rome there.”

‘ _Now I really should go before I catch it,’_ Eponine thought as she got to her feet silently, but before she could slip back to the drawing room, the study door opened. “I’m sorry, I only had to get away from Reynault for a little while,” Eponine said sheepishly to Victoria.

Victoria nodded to her knowingly. “I understand. There are larger games a woman may play besides revolution,” the older woman said before returning to the drawing room.


	33. Divine and Right

**Chapter 33: Divine and Right**

_May 19, 1842_

_Madrid, Spain_

_Eponine,_

_By the time you read this, you will surely have received the letter I sent on the 12 th of this month, just a mere day after you posted your own from London. It is good to know that you are in better spirits than in some of your previous messages. _

_Indeed you are right that Zaragoza was more colorful, and Madrid is even more so. It is difficult to describe the mingling of cultures and ways that characterizes the city; the Catholic can only do so much to cover the citadel’s Moorish roots, or stem the tide of foreign influences. It has to be seen to be thoroughly believed. It is such that your brother is enjoying his time here, perhaps a little too much on some occasions._

_The tale of Admiral Calamy’s startling return is rather peculiar; I was under the impression that mail conveyed through naval channels and packets was more reliable. You are free to disabuse me of this notion if the truth should be otherwise. Nevertheless, it is just as well that nothing inadvertent came out of that incident, and that whatever impressions made were smoothed over. I remember him somewhat from that salon at the Rue de Bac all those years ago, and how his belligerence marked the evening before we were both called away on urgent matters._

_You are certainly aware by now of my observations as to how things would proceed with regard to your acquaintance with Citizenness Calamy. I have no doubt that by this time you would have done far more than win her over. It is not in my power to predict if this will become a lasting alliance, but at least for your time in England you are likely in safe hands. It is also good that you have found another friend in Citizenness Williamson, and I hope she will prove at least kindly and honest, all differences withstanding._

_As of now I cannot, owing to necessary discretion, detail everything that has happened during our time here in Madrid. The last matter of interest that I can safely relate, I already have in my last letter dated on the 12 th. It would be sufficient to say that we are doing well, and our occasional troubles are well-handled. Inasmuch as you wish for me to be more verbose in this correspondence, there is much that is better said in person, and perhaps at a later date. I have reminded Jacques to please be more prompt in his correspondence, but an additional reminder from your end would not be amiss. _

_In my parents’ most recent letter, they did not mention to me any of your inquiries about Provence. Was it a news article you were requesting?_

_I look forward to your reply. Since it will be almost the end of the month when you read this, you can forward your reply to the consulate office in Venice. It would be safer than missing us entirely in Valencia, which we should depart from by the 31 st. _

_Yours always,_

_Antoine_

Immediately after posting this letter in the diplomatic packet, Enjolras, with Jacques in tow, headed to the Plaza de Santa Ana, which was just a short distance away from the Puerta del Sol. ‘ _Where else to find news that is not on the main broadsheets?’_ he mused silently even as he kept an eye on Jacques, who seemed to be engrossed in thoughts of his own during their walk. The black eye he had sustained during the reception a week before had all but faded, and with this change came a redoubling of the gallantry he was intent on paying to the mysterious Maria Carmen, who for some reason had yet to ever be seen at the Ambassador’s residence or other official events.

Suddenly Jacques nearly stumbled, having run afoul of an odd cobblestone. “Watch where you’re going,” Enjolras warned, reaching out to steady the boy. “We do not have time to be laid up with injuries, especially those that can be prevented.”

“I _was_ looking,” Jacques said with a miffed air. “Why are we going to find papers?”

“An inquiry you will understand shortly,” Enjolras said as they stepped out into the busy square. This part of Madrid’s central district was bustling with people heading in and out of restaurants, shops, and the large hotel to one side of the square. Vendors went from door to door or stood under the eaves with the object of calling the attention of any passers-by.

Almost immediately Enjolras caught sight of a man hawking a variety of newspapers near the middle of the square. “Good day, _Senor_. May I please have one of each kind,” he greeted.

“If _Senor_ wishes I can have them delivered to his lodgings there,” the hawker said, pointing to the hotel.

“There will be no need for that, thank you,” Enjolras said as he handed over some coins in exchange for the newspapers. Carrying the whole bundle under one arm, he motioned for Jacques to follow him to one side of the plaza, which was shaded by a row of trees. The day was the perfect sort to be working outdoors; a rising breeze served to cool the plaza, and the skies showed no hint of impending rain. ‘ _If I had taken that laudanum, I would have woken far too late to make the best of this,’_ Enjolras thought. Somehow his sleep had improved after his visit to the doctor, even without his ever using the tincture he had acquired. ‘ _Perhaps it was indeed a passing thing,’_ he decided.

As soon as they found a spot under a large tree, Enjolras handed some of the periodicals to Jacques. “Please start looking through these for any news of either what is going on in France, or anything about General Espartero,” he requested.

Jacques frowned as he opened up one of the smaller broadsheets. “Even these?” he asked, showing half a page emblazoned with a caricature of several Spanish politicians clad in ragged military uniforms.

“Especially those,” Enjolras said with a smirk. Even with his limited command of Spanish he could still glean the gist of most articles and captions, enough for him to decide if these would be worth a more thorough translation later. ‘ _And there are some that need not only a translation, but a cipher breaker,’_ he thought upon noticing one illustration that seemed to have a script embedded backwards on its lower half.

“ _Senor_ Enjolras!” a voice called. Enjolras looked up to see Rubio and a manservant walking in their direction. “Just the person I wanted to see, and you too _Senorito_ Thenardier. Where is the Ambassador?” he asked.

“He has some prior commitments to fulfill today,” Enjolras replied. ‘ _Hopefully they won’t run into each other, or there might be some need to explain what Citizen Pasqual is doing in Madrid,’_ he noted. As far as he knew the Catalan’s presence in the capital was meant to be kept a secret, hence Belmont’s personally taking the case in hand.

Rubio looked down for a moment before meeting Enjolras’ eyes. “Are you otherwise occupied today? If not, then I would like to invite you once again to my home. I have some acquaintances coming there soon, and I am sure that your meeting would be beneficial to both parties,” he said. “I will have my servant inform _Senor_ Belmont that you are visiting.”

‘ _It would be rude to refuse,’_ Enjolras realized, seeing how Rubio wrung his hands with an eager sort of expectation. “Very well. What time are you expecting us?”

“You and _Senorito_ Thenardier may accompany me back to the house directly, this very minute” Rubio offered.

Jacques grimaced behind one of the papers. “Do we have to?” he asked Enjolras in French.

Enjolras raised one eyebrow. “Did you have somewhere to be today?”

The boy’s cheeks flushed scarlet. “Maria Carmen and I---”

“Can talk later. Did you come to Spain just for courting?” Enjolras answered in French. He nodded to Rubio. “I hope we are not imposing on you or your other guests.”

“On the contrary you are just the person I need to carry out some discourse; I have acquaintances I must debate with,” Rubio said as they now began walking to where his coach stood at one end of the plaza. Within a quarter of an hour they were at the Spaniard’s residence, which was bustling at this hour with servants running up and down to clean the place. This time Rubio led Enjolras and Jacques upstairs to a covered terrace that overlooked the house’s generous yard and the neighborhood as far as the nearby Plaza del Prado. As soon as they were seated, Rubio quickly instructed a servant to bring up some refreshments. “Have you ever had saffron tea?” he asked Enjolras and Jacques after a while.

“Saffron? Isn’t that which turns things yellow?” Jacques asked.

“Yes, and is occasionally used in _bouillabaisse_ ,” Enjolras noted. “But no, we have never taken it in such an infusion.”

“Then consider yourselves lucky today,” Rubio said with a smile. “It is excellent for balancing out one’s humors, if you will, or expunging miasmas.”

‘ _Two theories in one breath,’_ Enjolras thought, remembering some old discussions with Combeferre and Joly about these conflicting matters. At that moment he heard more steps from inside the house. “Your other visitors?”

“Yes,” Rubio said as he got to his feet. “Good morning _Senor_ Villanueva and _Senor_ Ortiz,” he greeted two men who had entered the terrace. “Joining us today are _Senor_ Enjolras and his brother-in-law _Senorito_ Thenardier; they have recently arrived from France.”

“A pleasure to meet you gentlemen,” Enjolras said, standing up to shake the newcomers’ hands. Ortiz was even older than Rubio and appeared to be past forty-five in age; this impression was only heightened by his bare pate. Villanueva on the other hand seemed to be not a day older than twenty-five, and still had the acne of his tender years. Both Spaniards were dressed in morning wear, complete with frock coats and light-colored trousers.

Villanueva merely nodded cordially throughout the introductions, but Ortiz looked coolly at Enjolras and then at Rubio. “I never thought I’d spend my morning speaking with a secularist dog,” he said to their host.

Enjolras merely raised an eyebrow even as he saw Rubio wince at this slur. “Interesting that you should say so, _Citizen_ Ortiz,” he said in a level tone.

“ _Senor_ Ortiz is a very staunch defender of the Pope; his cousin is a bishop,” Rubio explained quickly. He glanced to where two servants were bringing in a large pot of tea and several cups. “We’re all _bona fide_ Catholics here, so let us enjoy this tea and have a good discussion.”

“No good Catholic would allow the Church to be so diminished the way it has in France and England,” Ortiz scoffed even as a servant poured him a generous cup of tea. “England is a lost cause; the very fact their Queen was born from a house of reprobates is proof of that, but France may yet be saved if allowed to come under the good moral influence of the Church once more.”

“You speak as if the Church is completely devoid of influence in France,” Enjolras pointed out as he picked up a cup of tea. The brew before him smelled sweet, almost floral, and left a slightly earthy and tangy taste on his tongue as soon as he took a sip. He met Ortiz’s querulous gaze. “As it is, the Church as well as all sects and creeds are free to worship provided they are not posing any danger to life, limb, property, or sovereignty.”

“Sovereignty? Did not Christ Himself say that we should render to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and to God what belongs to God?” Villanueva chimed in. “I do not see how that is possible with a Republic.”

‘ _It’s been years since I have heard that argument,’_ Enjolras thought even as he tried to keep a straight face. “It would be more possible in a Republic where every person’s conscience and creed is respected or at least tolerated as an independent entity, without any considerations as to temporal fealty,” he said, looking at the younger man. “Under a monarchy, especially one that has a hand in appointing members of clergy to positions of power, that sort of accounting is too easily blurred and even abused.”

“A monarchy with a leader given the Divine Right to rule,” Ortiz argued. “It is not proper that every man should become a master.”

‘ _From what I recall from Catechism, God did not get around to appointing kings until the Israelites asked for one,’_ Enjolras noted as he hid his smirk behind his cup of tea. “Yes, since it is far better that every person should live in fraternity,” he said. “These, however, are matters best debated by priests and those whose business it is to interpret the Bible. What brings you here?”

“The Regent, General Espartero, has not ceased his program of appropriating religious congregations’ lands as national property,” Villanueva said more sagely. “Of course, no order will sit well with that.”

“Naturally, but this now leads to the question if extremely large tracts of land or other holdings are necessary for the work and survival of religious orders,” Enjolras replied. “It could be said to be contradictory to the religious vow of poverty.”

“Those ‘large’ tracts support our religious orders’ different charities and missions,” Ortiz retorted. “Our agriculture funds the schools, the libraries, the hospitals and other good works we are bound to do. It is also a means of supporting the infirm and elderly of our congregations when they are no longer able to engage in gainful labor.”

“Such is the case also in France, but no single order or entity is permitted to maintain hold over idle land that would be better used for public works,” Enjolras informed him. He paused to sip his rapidly cooling tea. “No congregation or faith is taxed, as acknowledgment of their part in charity and social welfare, but since they do not pay taxes the State is not beholden to provide any sort of special legal protection or concessions.”

“Such secularism! Then what part does the Church have to play in French affairs?”

“The part as any religious group has: to practice good by its tenets and see to its flock according to its teachings. Since no faith is all-encompassing, then there has to be a State that will protect those who are deemed beyond the reach and care of an organized religion.”

Jacques’ and Villanueva’s jaws dropped at this, while Rubio no longer bothered to hide his chuckles behind his cup. Ortiz only shook his head as his eyes narrowed at Enjolras. “The Church does its best to be charitable, _Senor_ ,” he said. “No perfection can be made from human will alone.”

“Yes, but no good came out from simply telling the poor to pray for succor, when it can and should be readily given,” Enjolras said, holding the older man’s gaze. “More importantly, charity is only a means to an end; the welfare of the most downtrodden cannot be reliant solely on generosity or philanthropy. Society, regardless of the beliefs of its individual or collective constituents, must continually move as a whole to uplift all. ”

Villanueva whistled before draining his cup of tea. “I was told you were violently against clerics, but I am relieved to find it is not so,” he said with a smile.

‘ _Where did he get that notion?’_ Enjolras wondered but before he could voice this out he caught sight of another figure being shown up to the terrace. “ _Senor_ Delgado?” he asked, recognizing Belmont’s steward.

Delgado nodded as he came forward; the normally stoic _mayordomo_ suddenly appeared pale and harried, and his eyes were red and glimmering with tears. “ _Senor_ Belmont is sending for you and _Senorito_ Thenardier to return to the house now,” he said. “There’s been a terrible accident.”

“An accident?” Jacques repeated. “To who?”

Delgado only crossed himself. “It is very bad, _Senorito_. We need to go now, or we might be too late.”


	34. How to Case in Broad Daylight

**Chapter 34: How to Case in Broad Daylight**

Enjolras knew better than to ask Delgado about what had happened, at least while they were still at Rubio’s house. In fact, it was only when he and Jacques had joined Delgado in a hired carriage that he spoke. “What exactly happened?” he asked the _mayordomo_.

Delgado wiped his face. “ _Senor_ Belmont and _Senor_ Pasqual were in the Barrio La Latina. While they were walking in a street, a statue fell from a rooftop. _Senor_ Pasqual tried to push _Senor_ Belmont out of the way, but they both were nearly crushed.”

Enjolras shook his head at this uncanny narrative. “Has a doctor been sent for?”

“Someone immediately sent for Dr. Guerrero; he said it would be better to treat both of them at _Senor_ Belmont’s home, so he should be there now,” Delgado replied more easily. He crossed himself repeatedly. “Why did such a terrible thing happen?”

Jacques suddenly started as their carriage passed several others. “Maria Carmen is there…” he exclaimed, only to fall silent after a moment as he rose to get a better look at a carriage in front of them. “She isn’t alone…”

“Jacques, stay in your seat,” Enjolras warned, holding the boy’s arm firmly.

“But I need to talk to her!”

“That can wait.”

Jacques scowled as he sat back down. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Enjolras merely raised an eyebrow even as he fixed a stern look at Jacques. ‘ _It was a long nine years ago when sometimes it was difficult to look at Eponine, knowing she had been with Theodule Gillenormand earlier in the day,’_ he told himself even as the carriage made the turn into the street where the Ambassador’s residence was located.

Delgado nodded to a maidservant who met them as they alighted. “How are they?”

“Doctor Guerrero is still upstairs; he is setting _Senor_ Belmont’s’ broken bones now. _Senor_ Pasqual is resting,” the woman said quickly. She blushed deeply as she caught sight of Enjolras and Jacques. “Will you be needing anything?” she asked, looking at Enjolras.

Enjolras shook his head. “ _Senor_ Belmont sent for us.”

The maidservant blushed before motioning for the newcomers to follow her upstairs. As soon as they reached the second-floor corridor, Enjolras could already hear the muffled curses and yells from what he knew to be Belmont’s personal suite. He glanced at Jacques, who was starting to go green in the face. “If it is too much for you, you do not need to go in,” he reassured the boy.

Jacques took a deep breath. “Will there be a lot of blood?”

“That I cannot be sure of,” Enjolras replied, only to be cut off by a particularly sharp cry of pain from the suffering man in the next room. When he looked back at Jacques, the youngster was already retreating to his room. ‘ _Which is just as well,’_ he thought, taking a deep breath before knocking on the door. “It’s only me,” he called.

The door opened after a few moments and Doctor Guerrero stepped out, wearing a blood-spattered apron over his street clothes. “ _Senor_ Belmont insists on seeing you. I would advise against making the visit a long one,” he said in a hushed voice. “Are you resting better, _Senor_ Enjolras?”

“Somewhat,” Enjolras said with a grateful smile as Doctor Guerrero let him into the room. He wrinkled his nose at the cloying combination of the smells of liniments and carbolic soap, but he steeled himself to approach the heavily bandaged figure half-propped up in a bed in the middle of the room. “How are you feeling, Citizen Belmont?” he asked, pulling up a chair to the bedside.

Belmont groaned and opened his eyes. “It looks like I will be temporarily out of commission—and just when we are supposed to meet with some members of the _Cortes_ soon.” He waved his left arm, the only extremity of his which wasn’t bandaged. “You’ll have to speak up for me from time to time.”

Enjolras nodded gravely. “And Citizen Pasqual?”

“Will have to wait another day for his fight.” Belmont shut his eyes for a moment. “He pushed me out of the way. I wish I could do, could have done more for him all these years. If only I wasn’t ambassador…”

Enjolras saw the physician move to the bedside and discreetly point to his wristwatch. “You need your strength to recover. In the meantime, Jacques and I will finish preparing for whatever meetings you had scheduled.”

Belmont nodded and sighed deeply. “Thank you, Enjolras.”

The younger man got to his feet and followed Doctor Guerrero to the door. “And what about _Senor_ Pasqual?” he asked.

“Took a blow to the head. A shock would agitate him, so he is best left undisturbed,” the physician said. He glanced at Belmont. “He will recover earlier before our Catalan friend will.”

‘ _Perhaps someone should write to his kin, just to appraise them of the matter,’_ Enjolras thought, already resolving to ask Belmont for some advice on handling this delicate matter. As soon as he quit the sickroom, he went to knock on Jacques’ door, only to be greeted by silence. The door was unlocked, and a cursory examination of this room was enough to tell him that the youngster was not on the premises. He hurried downstairs to where Delgado was conversing with another senior servant. “Has anyone seen _Senorito_ Thenardier?”

“He said he was going out to meet someone,” Delgado said. He motioned for Enjolras to come nearer. “The address is at 25 Calle de Correo, just near the Puerta del Sol,” he whispered.

“Are you certain?”

“I know this part of Madrid like the back of my hand, _Senor_.”

Enjolras nodded as he donned his hat again and headed out in the general direction of this square. It was almost noon and the blazing heat from the sun high in the sky was enough to have most people retreating indoors. As he passed under the shadows of a building on the corner of the Calle de Correo, he saw a man suddenly get up from sitting idly by a window. Enjolras walked steadily, even as he could hear this stranger’s footsteps getting closer. After a few moments he saw a quick flash of metal, prompting him to turn around and grab the right wrist of the man who had been about to strike with a kitchen knife. With a swift movement Enjolras bent his assailant’s wrist, prompting him to drop the blade. Before this would-be assassin could recover the weapon, Enjolras dealt a kick to his midsection that had him on his knees gasping for air.

Enjolras grabbed this man by his shirt collar and cravat. “Who sent you?” he demanded.

The knifeman cursed and spat at Enjolras’ face. “I was after your purse.”

‘ _Clearly he is not a professional,’_ Enjolras observed, noting his foe’s threadbare clothing and broken false teeth. He tightened his grip, which only made the knifeman’s eyes widen with terror. “A cutpurse would not necessarily need a blade to get a few coins. Who set you to this job?”

“ _Senor_ , I cannot say,” the frustrated assassin quavered. “I hardly knew him.”

“You know it was a gentleman?”

“One of yours!”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this sudden confession even as he kicked the kitchen knife aside. “In addition to attempted murder, you could be charged for conspiring with a foreign agent, _Senor_ ,” he said coldly. “Are you certain of this?”

“ _Senor_ , I am only telling you what I know!” the Spaniard cried. “He has a house at the Calle Arenal, just near here.”

“What number?”

“32. It is not really a big residence, _Senor_.”

Enjolras nodded, even as he saw now a crowd beginning to gather around them. He quickly espied a man clad in the regalia of the city constabulary. “Take this man into custody,” he said, depositing the trembling assailant at the officer’s feet. “His weapon is over there,” he added, pointing to the discarded kitchen knife on the cobblestones.

The constable clucked his tongue. “Armed robbery, I see?”

“That was not his intent,” Enjolras pointed out as he let go of the man. He tipped his hat to the constable. “Thank you for this timely arrival, _Senor_ ,” he added before crossing the Puerta del Sol to exit at the aforementioned Calle Arenal.

Although it was not as large as the Plaza del Prado’s well-groomed thoroughfare, the Calle Arenal was wide enough to boast of some splendid dwellings fenced in by high walls and iron grilles. ‘ _What then was that man’s definition of a big residence?’_ Enjolras wondered as he adjusted his hat such that it covered most of his hair. He quickly took off his coat such that he was in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves. As a finishing touch he retied his cravat such that the knot was loose and bordering on sloppy. ‘ _Most people doing this already have some prior familiarity with the neighborhood,’_ he thought as he glanced around to make sure he was truly alone. He took a deep breath as he looked down the street; it had been a number of years since he had to do anything of this sort.

_“The biggest mistake people make when looking out is to go around and around the place till they are actually noticed.”_

_“How many times would you do it?”_

_Eponine had only laughed at this question. “No more than twice.” She looked back teasingly at him as she retied her bonnet. “Haven’t you ever had to do this, back before the revolution?”_

_“Avoiding suspicion from the police or looking inconspicuous while carrying contraband are rather different endeavors from what you have proposed,” Enjolras pointed out tersely, taking care not to raise his voice lest they be heard in the nook they had concealed themselves in. “All of this, for some spirits?”_

_“I am sure they aren’t normal spirits,” Eponine said. “I’m sure they’ve been tinkered with somewhat and I am not wasting our time here to bring home the bad stuff.”_

_It was all that Enjolras could do not to retort that it did not make a difference what sort of wine they would bring back from their trip to Rheims; usually their friends were too inebriated to know the difference. Nevertheless, he held his tongue as he watched Eponine step out of their hiding place under an arbor in the vineyard where they’d been hiding for some part of the day. After a few paces she shortened her stride into half steps and brought out a parasol that she had somehow concealed all this time. With bated breath he saw her walk to one end of the lane opposite the arbor, pause as if considering something, and then return with the same quiet, mincing stride she had shown earlier._

_“Now you try it, Antoine. Only don’t go back, just head straight out of the garden. I’ll follow in a few minutes,” she instructed. “And tell me what you see.”_

_“How could you see anything with that parasol?”_

_“Little do you know!”_

_Enjolras smirked as he adjusted the brim of his hat, then went forward on the walk. From his vantage point he had a clear view of some porters bringing out differently marked crates. Some of these, he recognized as carrying grapes that differed from those grown in the vineyard. He quickly averted his eyes and walked straight to the exit of the garden, and stepped to the left such that he was hidden by some bushes. After about three minutes, he heard Eponine now making her way to him rather quickly. When he turned to look at her, she was carrying her parasol now closed, and had doffed her bonnet. “Well then?”_

_“You saw the grapes, didn’t you?” she asked._

_“Yes, they came from outside, and not this vineyard,” he affirmed._

_Eponine nodded approvingly. “That’s good enough I s’pose, but you’d notice a bit more if you walked it right. I heard them talking you know, and they sound more south than we in Paris do.”_

This time however, there were no thick vines or arbors to conceal him, only the wide-open street that was deserted at high noon. ‘ _Perhaps I should have done this later in the afternoon,’_ Enjolras thought as he walked on one side of the road, occasionally glancing up to note the various devices and crests inscribed on the walls or emblazoned on the gates. At last he got to the 32nd house according to his counting and paused for a moment to note its size as well as entry ways. ‘ _A little modest for this street, but still with two gates,’_ he observed before continuing to walk till he got to a fork in the road. He then doubled back, this time going on the other side of the Calle Arenal such that he would be walking opposite the 32nd house.

Just as he approached the house, he saw what appeared to be a flurry of activity on its second storey. ‘ _A house that does not observe the siesta,’_ he realized, now taking care to conceal himself behind a tree that stood at an angle to Number 32. For several minutes he observed through the windows the commotion of a household having a late luncheon before he finally espied a manservant coming down to the gate to meet a courier coming up the street.

“Is your master at home?” the courier asked.

“Yes, but what is the matter?” the manservant retorted querulously.

“It is a personal delivery---meaning one I have to make face to face.”

“I am sorry, but I am not aware of any such prior arrangement. You will have to hand whatever it is to me.”

“Get out of there, Dela Cruz,” a voice shouted in heavily accented Spanish. “That is none of your business, I will handle it.”

Enjolras stepped further away from the house even as he saw a third figure now reaching the gate. ‘ _One of us indeed,’_ he thought, feeling the bile rise in his throat as he saw du Bellay pressing a small bag into the courier’s outstretched palm even as the latter handed over a letter covered in seals and varying postmarks.


	35. Things That Come to Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for a scene in a brothel

**Chapter 35: Things That Come to Light**

_May 26, 1842_

_72 Piccadilly London, England_

_My dearest Antoine,_

_It is so funny to reply to your letter dated on the 19 th of this month simply because I wrote one of my own too on that same day! I am sure you have read that message by now in Madrid, but I can only hope that this one arrives safely in Venice. _

_I wish I could describe London as colorfully as you describe being in Madrid. For a capital set so nicely by a river, so many things seem so dull even when the city isn’t wrapped in rain. Maybe it is because the Season here has yet to fully resume since most people who deem themselves of some importance are still coming back into town. I also have had little opportunity to see much outside of the places that Citizenness Calamy and Citizenness Williamson bring us to when some hours can be spared. I still owe Claudine a night to see a show, as we have talked of doing so often. The only good I have been able to do outside of work is finish making some purchases requested by our friends: cloth for Azelma, some books for Marius and Cosette (for their children as well as something about the business of jet), and other nice things for the rest who did not ask for anything. I’d like to get you something a little nice apart from the small things I have, so please let me know what you would like. I insist._

_This time it is my turn to make my letter short. I suppose I should best tell you when we meet again, which should hopefully be soon._

_All my love,_

_Eponine_

For much of the day after posting this letter, Eponine occupied herself with going over some additional material requested by Delaroche, who was presently in a lengthy meeting with Reynault and Lamarre. It was late in the afternoon by the time she finally got up from her desk, rubbing her eyes from the strain of looking at papers all day. As she stepped out into the hall, she saw Neville rushing up to his room. “What’s the ruckus about?” she asked him.

Neville stopped in his tracks. “Mr. James Goldberg, one of the young gents I met at that ball, invited me to join him and some friends for dinner and entertainment.”

“And where will you be?”

“Clerkenwell.”

‘ _Isn’t that a place for shops?’_ Eponine wondered, but before she could ask her brother about this, he had disappeared into his room. “I s’pose a nice house for a party could also be found in a busy place like that,” she muttered as she headed downstairs to the drawing room.

Here she found Claudine and Combeferre inserting some colored pieces of glass into what appeared to be a sort of camera obscura. “Making another paper already?” she quipped.

“This one is merely out of curiosity,” Combeferre replied He frowned as he adjusted one wiggly piece of glass. “I dare not bring out the coated papers till we are sure of these,” he said through gritted teeth as he adjusted his spectacles.

“Francois has some ordinary paper coated in the same chemicals one would use on a daguerreotype,” Claudine explained. “Sadly, it is a very smelly business.”

Eponine frowned at the recollection of the strong reek she had to contend with on the few times she’d ever sat for a photograph. “Have you seen Mrs. Calamy all of today?”

“She said she was making some important calls after meeting with Dr. Maturin,” Claudine said. “Maybe she’ll be back by supper later.”

‘ _Maybe it has something to do with what they were discussing several nights ago,’_ Eponine thought as she watched her friends at work. “If we’re going to be here in London a little longer, how will you go about sending mail if it’s going missing in the diplomatic packet?” she asked.

“Sending it by ordinary post would add more in terms of time and cost,” Combeferre said. “One possibility is to have someone who is heading back to France bring the mail with him or her, then have everything posted from Paris.”

‘ _But who would you ask?’_ Eponine wondered silently. “I’m a fool to realize it only now, but I s’pose you’re only staying in England longer because I’m here? Your presentation is done and applauded, and you’re mainly making calls and attending lectures,” she said at length.

Combeferre’s cheeks pinkened while Claudine burst out laughing. “You only saw it now?’ the older woman asked jovially. “It’s good for us to network while we are here, but it is even better to be around to support a friend.”

“Thank you. I don’t think I can ever repay you enough,” Eponine said earnestly to the couple. “Unless taking care of Remy and Yvie for weeks on end will do?”

“There is no need to start talking of that,” Claudine reassured her. She looked to where Neville was now heading downstairs. “You’re going out already?” she called to the boy.

“Mr. Goldberg is sending a phaeton for me any minute,” Neville replied.

Eponine went out into the hall to give her brother a once-over. ‘ _One would think he was a young man of fashion now, not merely seventeen,’_ she thought, seeing how he had tied his cravat in accordance with the convention for large knots instead of the tidier ones he had been accustomed to using in Paris. “Don’t drink too much, and please don’t stay out too late,” she said to him.

“Wouldn’t want you to greet me with a pistol, Ponine,” Neville joked, tipping his hat to his sister before walking out the door.

“He and Jacques will be one-upping each other with their stories when we all next meet,” Eponine said as she returned to the drawing room. “Well he’s having his fun, but what of us? We need a night when we do nothing serious—like a night watching a show! Tonight would have been a good time for it.”

“Of course we need to invite at least the Calamys, since they are our hosts,” Claudine pointed out. “It’s the gracious thing to do.”

Eponine sighed deeply. “I s’pose so.” She found a book, namely a condensed history of the time of Queen Elizabeth, lying on a table and occupied herself with browsing through it while occasionally watching Combeferre and Claudine continue with their tinkering. The shadows lengthened as the sun set, and eventually some servants came in with candles and lanterns to illuminate the drawing room.

It was only at this juncture that the front door opened and Admiral Calamy stepped in, smelling strongly of cigars enjoyed in a drawing room or pub. He peered into the drawing room. “Is my wife home yet?” he asked his guests.

Eponine shook her head. “Haven’t seen her all of today.”

“This is unseemly,” Admiral Calamy said as he doffed his hat and checked his watch. “And no visiting cards on the table either.”

Eponine shrugged. “Sir, what sort of amusement can be found in Clerkenwell?” she asked the admiral after a moment.

Admiral Calamy looked at her perplexedly. “Why do you ask, Mrs. Enjolras?”

“My brother has gone there with some acquaintances.” She bit her lip when she saw all color drain from the Admiral’s usually flushed face. “Is it something terrible?”

“For a boy with good standing and morals, there can be nothing good there for evening amusements,” Admiral Calamy said sourly. “Many parts of London, even Mayfair itself, have disreputable establishments. Clerkenwell is second only to Southwark when it comes to having a profusion of such vulgarity, but Southwark is already miles above the infamous East End. You’d better hope your brother’s companions do not drag him in further into the city.”

Eponine’s jaw dropped as she realized what Admiral Calamy was saying. “I’ll personally see to it!” she exclaimed as she bolted from the drawing room and headed upstairs to grab her hat and her coat. ‘ _I hope I have enough for a hackney cab both ways,’_ she thought as she surveyed what coins she had left in her purse.

When she arrived downstairs she saw Claudine and Combeferre also readying to go out. “We’re coming with you. Admiral Calamy is just ordering the carriage,” Claudine informed her.

“Again, thank you,” Eponine said. “Combeferre, you’ve been to Clerkenwell. Would you know where to go first?”

“We stayed mainly in the streets with printing shops, so unless those establishments double as brothels, we know where _not_ to go,” Combeferre pointed out.

‘ _At least that is something to begin with,’_ Eponine told herself as they stepped out of the house and into the Calamys’ waiting carriage. Throughout the drive to Clerkenwell she could not help but glance out of the barouche every now and then, hoping to catch sight of her brother in any of the other passing conveyances. ‘ _If he gets brought into one of those houses, he might not come out till morning,’_ she realized with a shudder.

As they neared Clerkenwell, Combeferre discreetly leaned forward to ask their coachman a few questions. “We can start at Turnbull Street,” he whispered. “That’s one of the more notorious places in the area.”

“But would that be where young swells like his friends go?” Eponine wondered aloud. “I don’t think they would just find some girls off the street, but they’d probably arrange for someone to be waiting for them at some place.”

“That would make our search more difficult if we are to consider that,” Claudine remarked. “Maybe Turnbull Street leads to some places.”

Eponine nodded grimly as the carriage turned towards an area of dimly lit streets, and then came to a halt by a lamp post. “I s’pose we should go on foot from here?” she asked.

“And keep our eyes open,” Claudine added, buttoning up her coat to her chin. “Quite possibly the young gentlemen might not have gotten far if they had dinner first.”

Combeferre motioned for the ladies to take his arms. “It is safer this way.”

“But more conspicuous. You stay with Claudine, but I’ll walk a little way ahead so we don’t get people talking,” Eponine suggested. She tied her bonnet more loosely such that it hung from the back of her head and showed off her reddish hair. As they walked down the crowded street, it was all she could do not to raise her eyes or say anything when men whistled as she passed or women threw taunts her way, sometimes going as far as getting in her face. ‘ _I’d know my brother anywhere, he’s got that slight limp that no shoes can hide,’_ she told herself as she tried not to breathe in too much of the reek of tobacco mingled with cheap perfume.

Suddenly she caught sight of a dark-haired woman passing through the crowd, stopping now and then to glance up and down the buildings and side streets. Her form was covered by a large grey cloak. ‘ _That one is certainly not looking for coins or a man,’_ Eponine decided as she sallied forward to meet this familiar figure. “What are you doing here?” she asked in French.

Victoria turned slowly to look at Eponine. “I should be asking you that same thing.”

“Your husband has been waiting for you.”

“You don’t have business here.”

Eponine gritted her teeth. “I do, and it’s getting my brother out of trouble.” She nodded as she saw Victoria’s jaw drop. “He went up with some young men here, but I had no idea what was here till the Admiral told me. Have you seen him?”

Victoria shook her head. “You need to go back to Piccadilly. He’ll probably be fine and no worse for wear in the morning.”

“He’s just a boy!” Eponine retorted. “I didn’t get myself off the streets and raise my brothers to be gentlemen just to have this sort of thing happen! I know we’re not supposed to be here by your reckoning, but since it’s late for that, I s’pose we should just help each other instead.”

Victoria took a deep breath through gritted teeth before nodding to Eponine, and then to Combeferre and Claudine. “I haven’t seen Neville. But these young men are likely to go up to one of those gin palaces there,” she said, glancing to a brightly lit series of buildings nearby.

“And where are you supposed to be?” Eponine asked. She crossed her arms when she saw Victoria hesitate. “You could say it’s none of our business, but it became our business when our mail began going missing,” she added.

“I’m trying to save your life here, Citizenness Enjolras. I don’t think you know what you’re getting into,” Victoria said in an undertone, speaking French for good measure. “We’ll get your brother, then you four need to leave.”

Eponine gave her a challenging look. “And what do we tell the Admiral?”

“Leave that to me,” Victoria said, leading the way to the gin palaces she had pointed out. She motioned for her companions to stay in the shadows as she went up to a porter standing at the door of the nearest establishment. After a few moments she gestured for Eponine, Combeferre, and Claudine to come nearer. “Supposedly they went up here.”

“And we have to pay to get in?” Combeferre asked, turning to the porter.

The porter nodded. “Five pounds to get in, more if you want to spend the night.”

“And what if it’s one of these ladies who will enter?”

“Has anyone asked for them?”

Eponine rolled her eyes. “No, but my brother is up there and I am bringing him home straight away,” she fumed before walking past the porter and heading straight upstairs. She stomped up a winding staircase, only to end up wincing as she found herself entering a hall illuminated with dozens of gas lights. The place was filled with tables and chairs for patrons sipping gin or partaking of meager refreshments, while a row of alcoves filled the rear of the room. She immediately caught sight of a raucous group comprised of several well-dressed young men and four tawdrily dressed women seated at a table. The youngest of these girls had her arms looped around a dark-haired boy and was kissing him while undoing his cravat.

“Neville!” Eponine yelled as she walked up to this table and met her brother’s glazed, almost stupefied gaze. “Get out of there right now!”

One of the older boys leered at her. “Mr. Thenardier, I didn’t know you had hired another one of these lovely ladies,” he cackled. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind having-----”

Eponine grabbed this young man’s hand before he could grasp her hip and pushed him back in his seat. She pulled the girl that Neville had been kissing off his lap and to her feet. “If you’ve already been paid, go home,” she snapped.

“They hired me for the night, Madame,” the girl protested, tucking her frowsy hair behind her ears and adjusting her décolletage. “It’s not even midnight yet.”

Eponine rolled her eyes at this time-honored excuse even as she half-dragged Neville to his feet. It was all she could do not to gag at the alcohol she smelled on his breath. “You have to walk. I don’t care how much you’ve had,” she scolded.

Neville blinked at her. “Ponine, it was just a little gin!”

“It wouldn’t have ended at that,” Eponine said more sharply as she brought her brother down the stairs and out into the street where her companions were waiting. “We have to get you back to the house straight away so you can sober up,” she said, handing off the intoxicated boy to Combeferre and Claudine.

“And you aren’t going with them?” Victoria asked her.

“No. Two pairs of eyes are better than one,” Eponine insisted.

The older woman looked as if she would shake her head by way of refusal, but instead she gave Eponine a serious look. “I’ll let you help me, but only if you promise to run if I tell you to run. Do not come back for me even if I scream for help.”

“I cannot promise that.”

“Then I cannot let you follow me.”

Eponine gritted her teeth as she offered her hand. “I’ll only promise to do what is best for both of us. That’s all I can say.”

Victoria sighed before shaking Eponine’s hand. “Very well then.” She nodded to Combeferre and Claudine. “There is some physic in my room that you can use; my husband will help you,” she instructed before motioning for Eponine to follow her away from Turnbull Street.

The two women walked in silence for a time till they reached a more deserted road. “The green here at Clerkenwell is only a rendezvous point; it’s where hired thugs and hands will meet their paymasters far away from their actual operations,” Victoria said after taking a deep breath. She brought out a lantern that she had hidden in her cloak and lit it with a match. “That was what that note that you found actually was about.”

“But there is something still going on in Clerkenwell, that is why you’re here,” Eponine pointed out. “And how will you get back if you do find what you are looking for?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Victoria said. “How good are you with picking a lock?”

Eponine’s jaw dropped “Are we---”

“I know exactly what to get, and where to find it. The only trouble is with actually getting in,” Victoria pointed out. “As I was saying, can you pick a lock?”

“I can try with my hairpins,” Eponine suggested. ‘ _She must have done some asking around to find out more than what Dr. Maturin told her,’_ she thought as she followed Victoria to a side street that ran between two rows of sturdy looking houses. “This was a nice neighborhood once,” she whispered as Victoria looked up and down.

“Parts of Clerkenwell still are,” Victoria said. She stopped before a house that was partially cloaked in shadow, being out of the reach of the nearby streetlamps. “There’s a window down there,” she said, gesturing to an aperture a few feet away. “I could almost open it a little of the way but for a chain there.”

‘ _Which is held by a lock,’_ Eponine realized, crouching to examine the window. She pushed on it experimentally and found she could make a gap just large enough to pull the lock through. “If I can’t pick it, what do we do?” she asked.

“We need to find a way to get the window off,” Victoria said tersely. “Would you know how to do that?”

‘ _If I had some putty, I could manage it perhaps,’_ Eponine thought, recalling this old trick she had learned from Babet on the streets. She pulled out one of her hairpins and stuck it into the lock, twisting it a little till she felt the pins give somewhat. With an effort she yanked the lock loose, causing the chain to clatter to the floor. “Now that’s done it!” she hissed.

Victoria cringed at this sound before shaking her head with steely resolve. “I’m smaller, so I’ll go in. If someone comes, drop the lantern,” she instructed as she handed the light to Eponine. In a moment, the Englishwoman had discarded her cloak and slipped into the small opening offered by the partially opened cellar window.

Eponine sighed deeply as she leaned against the wall, taking care to keep the lantern away from any windows of the house that Victoria had just entered. ‘ _I s’pose I can run, being the lookout, but I’ll be the one with her face on a notice,’_ she thought, trying not to glance at the window. A carriage passed by, prompting Eponine to duck and cover her face with her bonnet. Much to her dismay the carriage stopped and entered a side gate in this house. Quickly she went to the window and tapped the lantern’s edge against it. “Mrs. Calamy, we have to go!”

“What?”

“Someone’s returned, and carriage gates go downstairs, don’t they?”

The older woman swore as she made her reappearance at the window. “I didn’t get everything, but I got some,” she muttered, shoving out several handfuls of what appeared to be envelopes and missives, bound by twine. “Help me up!”

Eponine quickly reached in to pull Victoria up, all the while listening for the tell tale sounds of someone moving through the house. She saw Victoria’s eyes widen with terror as she mouthed an instruction, prompting her to make an almighty effort to tug Victoria through the aperture. After an interminable moment Victoria was able to grab the sill and further push herself out onto the street. “Who was that there---”

“Close that window and go!” Victoria ordered, picking up the papers she had just recovered and throwing her cloak over them. “Hurry now!”

Eponine swiftly shoved the window back into position and took one of the bundles from Victoria. For good measure she stuffed this in her coat before breaking into a run in an effort to put as much distance between them and the house. She did not dare to look back, not till she had reached the deserted road where they had been earlier. “Whose house was that?” she asked, seeing Victoria come to a stop.

“The title belongs to a Lord but he probably rented it out.” Victoria partially unwrapped one of the bundles of letters, only to go pale. “It isn’t just your mail that’s gone missing apparently,” she whispered.

Eponine peered at the letters, only to feel as if something had landed in her stomach as she caught sight of the official seals of the French embassy in London. “Dispatches,” she whispered.

“You know the handwriting?” Victoria asked.

‘ _I’ve had time to be acquainted with this,’_ Eponine thought as she got a better look at the familiar script. “I know you want to go home, but we have to stop by the Ambassador’s house as soon as we get back. He has to know, no matter how late it is.”


	36. Threads Throughout Europe

**Chapter 36: Threads Throughout Europe**

“You’ve got to be joking, Eponine.”

“I s’pose I can’t make up a joke like this. And the letters are right here.”

Claudine shook her head as she looked down at the bundles of letters that Eponine and Victoria had managed to smuggle out of Clerkenwell, and now had spread out on a table. “How did you get all of these here without getting caught or questioned?” she asked.

“Mrs. Calamy had a cloak, and I stuffed my coat with some of these too. The only difficult part was finding a hackney coach to get us back here to Mayfair,” Eponine explained. She bit her lip as she caught sight of a clock on the drawing room wall; the time read past three in the morning. ‘ _More like the Ambassador will have a very early morning at this point,’_ she thought as she yawned in an effort to fight off sleep. It did not help that Delaroche’s receiving room was stuffier and dimmer than the rooms at 72 Piccadilly. “How is my brother?”

“Combeferre put him to bed easily enough, but I suspect you will have more to talk about later once this is over,” Claudine replied. “Speaking of Francois, where is he?”

“Right here,” Combeferre said as he entered the receiving room with Lamarre and Reynault in tow. “Neville will be just fine once he has some breakfast in him. Where is Mrs. Calamy?”

Eponine pointed upwards. “Arguing with Citizen Delaroche’s valets, or perhaps the Ambassador himself.” She looked to Lamarre and Reynault. “I s’pose you might recognize some of your own letters here, Citizens.”

Reynault took one look at the pile and pounded his fist on the table. “What sort of perfidious wretch would do this?” He glanced at Lamarre, who was silent but slowly reddening with anger while going through some of the envelopes. “So much for writing all of that for days!”

“We have been cut off from home, effectively,” Lamarre said. “And how did you recover these?” he asked Eponine.

“Citizenness Calamy was the one who located them; I just helped her find a way in,” Eponine said nonchalantly, all the while doing her best not to look at either Claudine or Combeferre. ‘ _They know what I do with my hairpins,’_ she thought even as she saw Victoria enter the receiving room.

“Ambassador Delaroche should join us in a few minutes,” the matron announced, putting her hands akimbo. “It seems, gentlemen, as if we have a larger problem than simply personal mail going missing in the diplomatic packet,” she addressed the two diplomats.

“A clean up of the ranks here, and perhaps in Paris, will be necessary,” Lamarre fumed. “Citizenness Enjolras said that you knew where to find these missing missives?” he asked her.

“After the question of missing mail was raised last week, I made inquiries. It wouldn’t be the first time this has happened, and usually it comes down to some incompetence or _force majeure_ like a storm,” Victoria began. “Only this time that my inquiry led me to a whole series of inconsequential lackeys passing on information to someone at Clerkenwell. And apparently, letters too.”

“But why? And even diplomatic dispatches?” Reynault asked.

“Perhaps the substance of your messages would shed light on that,” Victoria suggested.

In the meantime, Eponine was also going through the pile of mail, taking care to set aside any letters addressed to her. ‘ _Most of these are from early in the month,’_ she realized as she looked at the postmarks. She found one opened missive with multiple stamps and scrawls showing that it had come from as far as Poland. “Feuilly is being watched too?” she whispered as she quickly shook the letter out from its envelope.

_April 25, 1842_

_Krakow, Poland_

_My trusted friend,_

_I have no way of knowing if this will reach you in England; I am sure that something more than delays has been causing this paucity of messages that Leonor and I have been observing over these past weeks since our arrival here. While it is convenient to course messages through the diplomatic corps, it is best to find another more fool-proof means of conveying mail throughout Europe, for reasons I will explain here._

_It is known to us all that throughout Europe and even in our Republic, there is still a strong faction that would wish to have the Church of Rome exercise more jurisdiction over temporal affairs. This has remained consistent regardless of individual leaders such as bishops, cardinals and pontiffs having different beliefs over this stance. In most circumstances this would be simple for each country to settle within respective governments and hierarchies. Recently this has taken a turn for the sinister, with agents from the Papal States going throughout the different nations to parley and in some cases sway affairs. We have encountered a few here in Krakow, a city so firmly allied with Rome. Normally we would set this aside, if it was not for the fact that one was seen going through the attaches’ mailbag. Hence this cause for alarm and my letter to you._

_It is possible they are rather emboldened by the current Pope’s own stance and his governance over the Papal States. Personally, I applaud his views against slavery, but I cannot be reconciled to his assertions that a man “divinely appointed” should hold sway over the liberty and conscience of another._

_Considering England’s history regarding its recidivists and relations with the Church of Rome, I do not think there is much political danger there. Nevertheless, it is best to be aware, especially when considering how these may affect ties with nations on the Continent._

_Yours in confidence_

_GF_

“Little does any of us know!” Eponine whispered as she read the letter once more. ‘ _I hope that Antoine got a similar warning, even if it may take longer to reach him there,’_ she thought as she wiped her face. “So that house in Clerkenwell---” she began, looking at Victoria.

“Probably only a front and a cache; as I said the house was being rented by a Lord,” Victoria replied. “I have yet to ascertain who the tenant is.”

Eponine bit her lip as she looked at everyone in the room. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be Lord Griffiths,” she said after a moment.

Victoria’s eyes widened. “What gives you that idea?”

“I saw him in town some days ago, not far from here. He gave a bottle of wine to someone who gave him a letter. I didn’t hear much of what they had to talk about, only that they passed from the East End to Clerkenwell.”

“You should have told me.”

“I didn’t have much proof other than what I heard, and it was not very much.”

“At best circumstantial,” Combeferre chimed in. “The evidence is lacking.”

“Still a lead,” Victoria seethed. “It would only have been a matter of confirming it.”

“Must you argue at this early hour?” Delaroche groused as he entered the room, wearing a housecoat thrown over his nightclothes. He shook his graying hair out of his eyes and blinked in disbelief on seeing the mail heaped up in the middle of the room. “Is that all of it?”

“It was only what Mrs. Enjolras and I could bring home readily,” Victoria replied seriously. “If you have a search done in time, you may recover more.”

Delaroche paled as he ambled over to get a better look at the mail. “All these lovely dispatches—and here is a notice from the Home Office! This is monstrous interference!” he yelled, going livid. “Once I find out which fool did this----”

Eponine got to her feet and handed him the letter from Feuilly. “I s’pose this might explain it more,” she said. “It’s from one of your colleagues.”

Delaroche’s eyebrows rose as he read through the letter, even as his complexion grew more and more livid. “And who is this particular one, who took you into his confidence?” he asked her.

“Gilles Feuilly. Who as you know left for Poland the same day that I left for here, with Citizens Lamarre and Reynault,” Eponine answered.

Delaroche nodded as he handed the letter back to Eponine. “Has all of this been sorted yet?” he asked his fellow diplomats.

“Not yet; it will take a few hours to make an inventory,” Lamarre replied. “Aside from investigating within our Embassy and calling the police, we should inform the Home Office.”

“Not by letter; I would not discount the possibility of there being interference at home,” Delaroche muttered furiously as he began to pace the room. “We would have to make the report in person, at least in Paris.”

Victoria shook her head. “By the time they act on that, it might be too late. All the diplomats abroad are compromised,” she argued. “We have to cut this off at the head, that is in Italy.”

Reynault gaped at her. “You don’t mean----”

“I know the Mediterranean more than most parts of the world, second only to London,” Victoria said. “If there are indeed English citizens involved in this chicanery, then that is something I have to ascertain and even stop if need be.”

“Which you will do as a subject of the Crown or a private person, and not in connection to our work here,” Delaroche pointed out. “I would hate to lose your services, Mrs. Calamy.”

“You know where my allegiance is, first and foremost.”

“But to assist Citizenness Enjolras here----”

Eponine shook her head. “That will not be needed, not anymore.” She looked first at Delaroche and the diplomats before meeting Victoria’s astonished eyes and lastly Combeferre and Claudine’s knowing gaze. “Mrs. Calamy is right that we can’t just cry for help and then wait for our diplomats to get it sorted. And I have my own reasons to go to Italy too, now at least.”

“Enjolras and your brother should be there by the beginning of June?” Claudine asked.

“Yes. I don’t think they know what’s happened, and the mail is definitely no way to go about it,” Eponine replied. She took a deep breath as she tried to banish from her mind the different scenarios that surfaced before her. ‘ _A jail cell, assassination, or being led here and there—I know they can manage some things well, but this is bigger than all of us can do,’_ she told herself.

“But what of our mission here?” Reynault asked.

Eponine gave him a withering look. “I translated all that you need; now all that’s left for you is to go before Parliament when they reconvene. And I s’pose there will be other times and seasons for us to speak with the King and Queen and other ladies about how women do now in France.”

Delaroche sighed. “Can I not dissuade you, Citizenness?”

“If something terrible should happen because I stayed here and did nothing, I’d regret it forever,” Eponine said. She stood up straight and looked at Delaroche. “I’m not asking for permission to leave England; I know I must.”

“She won’t be alone,” Victoria added resolutely. “I intend to go to the Mediterranean too. With or without my husband, though of course I can prevail on him.”

Eponine nodded gratefully at Victoria. “For King and Country, is that what it is?”

“Yes, and because you need to get back alive,” Victoria said.

Combeferre and Claudine exchanged looks that made it clear that there would be some discussion between them as to what they would do next. “We certainly have to stop by Paris and make preparations there,” Combeferre said. “Eponine, you won’t be alone when you go to Italy.”

“If I may, this matter is going to take an international import. And someone will need to report back to the Home Office,” Lamarre said to Delaroche more calmly. “I am requesting permission to accompany them, and personally coordinate with our counterparts in Italy.”

Delaroche was silent for a moment before he nodded reluctantly. “I will write your papers of passage; you will leave as soon as they are ready. Citizen Reynault and I will finish the trade proposals here and pray they will be accepted by Parliament.” He looked seriously at Eponine. “If the worst should happen, know that I will not be in a position to vouch for you, Citizenness.”

‘ _I’ll make sure you will not have to,’_ Eponine thought as she nodded and quickly gathered up the letters that were addressed to her. “Does everyone have their mail in order?” she asked.

Claudine sighed as she held up an armful of notes. “I wish we’d brought a bag. Anyway, no use answering these; we’ll be back home soon anyway.”

‘ _And having to explain and hear explanations too,’_ Eponine realized. Within an hour, she as well as Combeferre, Claudine, and Victoria were on their way back to Piccadilly while the diplomats opted to stay a little longer at the Embassy. Upon arriving at their lodgings, Eponine headed up to her room and put the retrieved mail on her desk. ‘ _No use trying to sleep properly when there is so much to do later,’_ she thought as she sat in a chair and closed her eyes.


	37. Cause Celebre

**Chapter 37: Cause Celebre**

_May 26, 1842_

_Madrid, Spain_

_Eponine,_

_By now I am certain that you have in hand a letter I sent on the 19 th, as I also have with me now your missive from that same date. Hopefully, the delay you have mentioned has already been resolved, and that our correspondence will proceed more smoothly from this point._

_As you have requested, I have enclosed on a separate sheet the addresses and particulars of the ladies and a number of gentlemen as well who wish to enter into correspondence with you. Also, as to your query about in which language you were read in, the answer is both according to the de Polignacs. The original French has made its way here, but a Spanish translation was penned by a courtier about two years ago. I have acquired a monograph of it, which I will present to you when we meet. Like many translations, it is imperfect, and I trust you will spend many hours clarifying some of its finer points with your readers here in Madrid._

_The past week has presented fewer opportunities to see more of the city and its environs, owing to the many appointments and assignations we have with various sectors and their representatives. Jacques has been enjoying the wide choice of comestibles available during different luncheons and suppers; the ready supply of sugar from Spanish colonies allows for much more invention in the realm of pastries and desserts. Spain does have its own peculiar agriculture; one example of it is saffron, an herb which occasionally makes its way into the Provencal bouillabaisse. Over here they add a little of it to festive dishes, and even make an infusion of it. It is a rather sweet, very inoffensive brew that brings levity to one’s spirits. This mild euphoria lasts for as long as one does not comprehend the expense entailed in making a single cup, for a few strands of saffron cost as much as a louis d’or when converted to our currency._

_I hope greatly that this message has heartened you, and that you have laughed too, perhaps as much as you did during that venture in Lorraine. It would be safest to have your reply sent to Venice. We should be there after a five to seven- day steamer trip from Valencia._

_Yours always,_

_Antoine_

The morning during which Enjolras had penned this was a busy one in Belmont’s household, owing to the adjustments being made to accommodate the convalescents there. “It is a shame that you and young _Senorito_ Thenardier have to leave for Italy in a few days; your presence here cheers _Senor_ Belmont while he is abed or moving around limitedly,” Delgado said to Enjolras as the latter was preparing to head out towards the end of the siesta hours. “Were you to stay longer, even that _Senor_ Pasqual would be on his feet again.”

“Unfortunately, duty calls elsewhere,” Enjolras pointed out. It was all he could do not to glance to the stairwell, where Doctor Guerrero had gone up to change Belmont’s bandages and revise a prescription for a half-lucid Pasqual. ‘ _And part of that entails a reckoning which will be done straightaway,’_ he resolved as he left the house. He headed directly to the Puerta del Sol, and made the turn to the de Polignacs’ home, where he was directly shown in.

Here he found the young couple in their sitting room; de Polignac was reading while Clarita was tatting a small cap. “Prompt as always, Citizen Enjolras,” de Polignac greeted amiably. “Have you already had luncheon?”

Enjolras nodded. “I have forwarded your address, and those of your friends, to my wife. She is an eager correspondent and will send an introduction soon.”

“How good of you!” Clarita exclaimed, nearly dropping her work. She blushed as she stooped to catch it from falling onto the floor. “It is sad that Ambassador Belmont will not be able to attend the grand party later at _Don_ Silva’s. But you and your brother-in-law will be there?”

“To represent him, yes,” Enjolras answered.

“A pity you didn’t bring him here, now,” Clarita said. “I would have loved to also hear more of what it is to grow up in Paris.”

‘ _It would not do to mention that Jacques is in low spirits all of a sudden,’_ Enjolras thought. Following Belmont’s accident, Jacques had returned from his mysterious absence in tears, refusing to speak at length about the matter, or even about the woman he had supposedly gone out to seek. “He is presently occupied. In the meantime, I must borrow your husband for an important errand,” he said. 

“It will not be long,” de Polignac promised, kissing Clarita’s cheek. He quickly donned his hat and coat before nodding to Enjolras. “Now where are we to meet Citizen du Bellay?”

“At the Plaza de Santa Ana. There is a café there,” Enjolras replied. He did not speak again till he and de Polignac were outdoors. “I am sorry to involve you in this terrible business, my friend.”

“It was already terrible before you arrived here in Madrid, Citizen,” de Polignac pointed out as they walked. “Monsieur du Bellay---I dare not call him ‘Citizen’, is as my Clarita has said, a great gossip and a conniver. It is no secret that he has no love lost for our ambassador.”

‘ _An understatement,’_ Enjolras thought even as they headed to the corner of the Plaza de Santa Ana, where there was a small café that was just opening up to receive afternoon patrons. Once inside, de Polignac ordered a cup of rich hot chocolate while Enjolras asked for coffee. Whatever languor caused by the scorching afternoon sun was rapidly dispelled with the heady aromas of these beverages, which mingled with the sweet odors of freshly baked pastry from the café’s kitchen.

After a few minutes they caught sight of du Bellay crossing the plaza with a petulant air about him. The older aristocrat scowled on seeing de Polignac at the table. “This is the hour for serious discussion, not child’s play,” he said.

“Indeed, which is why he is here,” Enjolras said calmly, showing du Bellay to a seat. He waited for the newcomer to ask for a drink before he spoke again. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the news of the past few days?”

Du Bellay blinked. “Of what? Of Belmont?”

“Yes, and what do you make of it?” Enjolras asked, picking up his cup of coffee.

“He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that is unfortunate,” du Bellay said. “Surely you two didn’t ask me here to discuss what everyone already knows.”

“You’re right about that,” Enjolras concurred, putting his hands on the table. “There is much speculation about it however that we need to clear up.”

“Such as?”

“The improbability of a statue seemingly falling from on high.”

Du Bellay scoffed. “It happened in the Barrio La Latina. That is as old as Madrid gets, and many structures there are in disrepair.”

“That is true. But a collapse of that sort would have been more pronounced and would have affected a whole wall and perhaps more passersby. Not merely two,” Enjolras observed.

Du Bellay’s eyes narrowed even as a server brought him a glass of wine. “Are you implying I have something to do with it?”

Enjolras sipped his coffee once more. “Is there a reason for you to fear you will be implicated in what is said to be an accident?”

“Don’t take me for a fool, _Monsieur,”_ du Bellay hissed. “I know that Monsieur Belmont is harboring a Catalonian in his residence. It besmirches the dignity of his office.”

De Polignac bit the inside of his cheek. “You’ve been jealous of Belmont for years now, almost from the day he arrived in Madrid.”

“What does a Lyonnaise lawyer know of foreign affairs?” Du Bellay sneered. “There are others in the diplomatic corps more sophisticated than he is, such as Monsieur D’Aramitz, who I know you are acquainted with.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at the mention of this companion. “I was not aware you are in correspondence with him, at any point.”

Du Bellay paled for a moment before sneering again. “See that is how ineptly Monsieur Belmont runs his office; you did not even know that Monsieur D’Aramitz was continually in communication with some of us here in Madrid!” he said mockingly. “That man knows how to prepare his way instead of dazzling all the neighborhood with fetes and blustering.”

“And a diplomat acting without the coordination of others is, in your opinion, fit to head a consulate in a foreign land?” Enjolras asked. He smirked when he saw du Bellay pale again. “I also find it surprising that you know too about Citizen Belmont’s guest. That was supposed to be privileged information.”

For several moments du Bellay was silent, only opening and closing his mouth as if the power of speech failed him. “I am not the only one with no admiration for Monsieur Belmont. You would do well to remember that if you intend to succeed here in Madrid.” He donned his hat again and got to his feet. “Good afternoon to you both,” he practically spat before storming out.

De Polignac waved at him insultingly before gesturing to the glass of wine that du Bellay had left behind. “A waste of perfectly good spirits.”

“You can have it,” Enjolras said before looking out to where du Bellay was crossing the plaza towards a waiting carriage. ‘ _Not the admission I was expecting, but rather, something more ominous,’_ he noted as he waited for de Polignac to finish the glass of wine and then headed back to Belmont’s house.

Much to his surprise, the Ambassador was sitting downstairs, propped up in a chair and with pillows supporting his bandaged limbs. “Ah, where have you been, Enjolras?” he greeted.

“Meeting with Citizen de Polignac,” the younger man replied as he took a seat. “How is _Senor_ Pasqual?”

“He’ll probably have to recover here in Madrid long after you have left. Physically at least he will mend, but there’s no telling about his mental faculties,” Belmont said with a deep sigh. He lifted his bandaged arm experimentally. “These will not be any good for the dinner party later. I think you should get more done there by meeting a few persons as opposed to meeting with the entire _Cortes_ with all its 300 members.”

‘ _Hopefully the wine does not get to their brains to the point of them muddling or forgetting the entire matter,’_ Enjolras thought. He watched Belmont flex and wiggle his fingers for a short while. “When will you next go back to France?” he asked.

“Perhaps as soon as I am able.” Belmont let out another sigh. “I know, I have much to report to the Home Office. In person, if I am able. But first I will make sure that _Senor_ Pasqual is as well as he can manage, and that his daughter is provided for. Rest assured that when I am next in Paris, I will call on you and finally get to meet your family.”

“You need to be careful.”

“Don’t you think I already know that? The court here in Spain is a nest of vipers compared to most of our French institutions. Less subtle, but more poisonous.”

After a little while discussing with Belmont the preparations for the ball that evening, Enjolras headed upstairs. He saw through a half open door Pasqual sitting up in bed, staring into space as a servant measured out a dose of medication for him. For a moment it seemed as if a flicker of recognition passed over Pasqual’s face when his gaze fell on Enjolras, but it was replaced all too soon by his accustomed stupor. ‘ _It may be very well that most of his penetrating mind will be lost or extremely hindered,’_ Enjolras thought, remembering now some of Combeferre and Joly’s sordid stories of treating injuries during various crises.

He heard another step in the hallway and turned to see Jacques exiting his room, looking as if he had just woken up from a nap. “Are you ready for the dinner later?” Enjolras asked.

Jacques shrugged. “I do not feel like going.”

“You have been listless all week. If you are unwell, I will ask Doctor Guerrero to examine you,” Enjolras pointed out. He raised an eyebrow as Jacques’ cheeks turned bright red. “Unless something else is the matter?”

“Maria Carmen no longer wishes to speak to me,” Jacques retorted.

“And what of it?”

“She’s found a gentleman to woo her. I’m nothing to her, she said so. How could she do such a thing after everything we’ve been through?”

“A fortnight is hardly a significant amount of time,” Enjolras pointed out. “If that is her choice, I believe you need to respect that.”

Jacques’ eyes blazed as he drew himself up to his full height. “I want to fight for her. Isn’t that what you should do for someone you love?” 

“That adage does not apply for everything.” Enjolras crossed his arms as he saw Jacques bite his lip as if holding back tears. “If you did so, then to what end would it be if her inclinations have already been made clear?”

“I could get her to change her mind,” Jacques said with a shrug. “Prove that I am someone she can love.”

“And how do you propose to do that?”

“I don’t know, write her a letter? How did you ever do that with my sister?”

Enjolras took a deep breath at this impetuous question, but even so he could not resist smiling at the mention of his partner. ”I was straightforward with her, but because we already had a stronger footing of friendship before I made my intentions clear,” he replied. ‘ _Perhaps the only thing I would have changed was that I would have been more direct with her sooner instead of waiting weeks for matters to come to a head,’_ he reflected.

Jacques nodded slowly. “How did you know that she was really the one for you?” 

“Apart from her being rather exceptional, we treat each other on equal footing.” Enjolras saw Jacques’ eyes widen at this. “It does not exempt us from exerting effort each day to maintain that respect between us.”

“That is not very romantic!” Jacques griped. “How am I supposed to know anything?”

Enjolras chose not to dignify this complaint, but instead went to wash and freshen up in preparation for the evening’s event. Instead of tying his white cravat in a bow as was the fashion of the day, he resorted to a much simpler knot. ‘ _It would not do to look like a fop tonight,’_ he decided as he brushed some dust off his hat and his shoes.

When he stepped out into the hall, he saw Jacques also exiting his room wearing a black waistcoat under a dark blue coat. “Evening wear does not always equate mourning,” he commented.

“I got laughed at for the cerulean coat,” Jacques muttered.

“There is a time and a place for everything,” Enjolras said, clasping Jacques’ shoulder for a moment. ‘ _He will learn to correct his own extremes in time,’_ he thought as they headed downstairs and outside to a waiting carriage.

The evening’s festivities were situated at another grand residence on the Calle Arenal. Even from afar Enjolras and Jacques had a good view of the house aglow with red and gold light; a closer examination showed that this effect was achieved with thin colored papers positioned in front of lanterns placed throughout the premises. A whole line of carriages had formed outside the gate, prompting most of the visitors to walk the rest of the way into the brightly lit grounds and up to the house at the end of a well-kept brick path.

Jacques looked around uneasily as he and Enjolras made their way through the whispering crowd. “It’s as if everyone is looking at us,” he whispered furtively to his brother-in-law.

“Eyes forward,” Enjolras admonished him. He caught sight of Rubio at the door, talking to a powerfully built gentleman who he understood to be the host of this event. “Good evening, _Senor_ Rubio, _Don_ Silva,” he greeted with a polite bow.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you _Senor_ Enjolras,” the man named Silva said graciously, bowing in the manner of the Spanish court. “Your presence here in our city is quite the talk of society both low and high.”

“To the point there is no shortage of welcomes,” Enjolras said. He nodded for Jacques to come forward. “I’d like to introduce my brother-in-law _Senorito_ Jacques Thenardier.”

Jacques managed a bow, albeit a little clumsily. “Thank you for inviting us _Senor_.”

“It is our pleasure,” Silva said. “He is very young isn’t he?” he asked Enjolras.

“Young in face but older in mind,” Enjolras replied blasely. “ _Senor_ Belmont sends his regards, and his regrets that he will be unable to join us this evening.”

“A pity. Is he recovering well?” Rubio asked.

“As well as can be managed; he has a capable doctor attending him.”

“ _Senor_ Enjolras!” a familiar voice called. The men turned to see Villanueva hurrying up to them. He had cleaned up well for the occasion, to the point of abolishing some of the acne that had plagued him days earlier. “Finally! Everyone is abuzz inside about your joining us,” the elegantly dressed young man said breathlessly.

“He has spoken of little else but resuming your discussion after your introduction last week,” Rubio said with a grin. “Let’s step inside---and please join us good _Don_ Silva if you are done greeting the rest of the party!”

From the entryway, Enjolras saw that the house’s main room, as far as the courtyard, was filled up with people milling about while talking or passing around glasses of wine. A troupe of musicians was playing a popular dance tune, occasionally punctuated by the clicking of castanets. As he walked with Rubio and Villanueva, the people nearest them often broke off their conversations to greet them, or even ask for introductions. A few ladies, many of them young as well as a number of older ones, blushed and tittered behind their fans as the gentlemen passed; at least one was heard to sigh too loudly before being reproved by a chaperone.

“Do you dance, _Senor_ Enjolras? Our dances in Spain are unparalleled, as you will see here tonight,” Rubio said proudly.

“I am not familiar with the forms here in Spain,” Enjolras replied cordially.

“A pity,” Rubio said. He nodded to Jacques. “What about you, _Senorito_?”

Jacques hung his head. “I’m not feeling up to dance.”

“You will think otherwise when you hear our music,” Villanueva retorted. He smiled broadly as he caught sight of a young woman dressed in fine red silk. “Excuse me, I have a previous appointment to honor,” he said before stepping away.

“There is a young gallant, much like your countryman that charming _Senor_ de Polignac,” Rubio remarked. “Surely your own days of gallantry are not so far behind you, _Senor_ Enjolras?”

“I had little opportunity for such affairs,” Enjolras answered, stepping aside to let Jacques proceed to the refreshments table.

“Old before your time, I see?” Rubio smiled more widely at the sight of Villanueva and his dance partner walking arm in arm to the courtyard, where a crowd had gathered to either dance or watch those who took to the floor. “When I was a young man, younger than you are, gallantry was what drove us gentlemen. Then of course it gave way to more proper, sedate manners, but I believe that one should never lose the spark of its origins.”

“Perhaps.” Enjolras was silent as he watched the dancers take their positions; now he could see de Polignac also asking another woman to dance while Clarita watched approvingly. “Are any of your former colleagues from the _Cortes_ already present?”

“Ah yes, the aim of your evening,” Rubio said, motioning for Enjolras to follow him to a table occupied by four gentlemen smoking cigars while picking at a platter of various cured meats and mushrooms marinated in spices. “Gentlemen, I’d like to finally introduce _Senor_ Enjolras, our distinguished guest from France. He was a framer of the current French Constitution and is currently assisting Ambassador Belmont with smoothing things out between our two great countries,” he began before introducing the other gentlemen.

“A progressive, I see,” one of these legislators said, looking coolly at Enjolras. “I’ve heard of your reforms and your stances against the nobility of your home.”

“Yes, but a more clement one---he let the deposed king go into exile instead of having him executed outright!” another man chimed in. He offered a cigar to Enjolras. “And what do you think of our fine country, Spain?”

“The experience has been educational,” Enjolras said. “It is a country with much to offer not only to France, but even to all of Europe.”

“If you mean in terms of trade, that is something we are already very good at,” a third legislator pointed out. “Our colonies in the Asia give us much for commerce, and you have to admit that France cannot do entirely without our offerings from the Orient.”

“Yes; I understand your compatriots especially from Galicia, Asturias, Aragon, Andalucia and the two Castiles participate avidly in overseas trade,” Enjolras concurred. “It would also be good for other autonomous communities such as the Extremadura to also experience some symmetry in participation in commerce, and more equitable distribution of resources.”

“Extremadura already has two great exports: its famed pigs and the people who have expanded our fortunes in other seas!” the first of these parliamentarians chortled. He raised an eyebrow on seeing that Enjolras did not light up his cigar. “At the very least they are not as troublesome as the Basque Country.”

“A region that I understand once overlapped with what is currently French territory,” the fourth legislator said .He eyed Enjolras carefully, as if sizing him up. “How does Paris deal with its own French Basques?”

“The French Basque region is treated the same as our other administrative regions and departments of France; it has its representatives, resources are allocated as equitably as possible, and the Basque culture is no longer suppressed,” Enjolras said. “The reunification however of the Basque countries as a separate state is considered as contrary to the welfare of the area’s inhabitants as well as to our foreign policy.”

“At least one does not have to send troops to that part of France, unlike what is happening here,” the second legislator pointed out. “But mark my words, Catalonia will be the next place that Espartero will send troops to if they are not careful there.”

‘ _Has Pasqual made any headway in averting that?’_ Enjolras wondered as he picked up a glass of water. “Is there anything the _Cortes_ can do to avert it, for the purpose of preventing the unnecessary shedding of blood?”

The four legislators exchanged wary looks. “We do not have direct control over the military; that is the problem with having a Regent ascended from its ranks as opposed to one from the royal family,” the oldest of them said in a furtive whisper. “We can block some powers, but we have no hand in the actual conduct.”

Enjolras nodded slowly at this. “It would be in Madrid’s best interests to have the matter resolved peacefully. Apart from attracting further attention due to the current state of the negotiations between the Basque Country and Madrid, a sudden crisis in the north of Spain might precipitate any number of events.”

“A refugee crisis,” one of the statesmen muttered. “People fleeing to where they are not wanted in other autonomous communities, or even north to France.”

‘ _Something that our foreign policy has to consider,’_ Enjolras thought even as he caught sight of Silva walking up with a rather discomfited expression. “Is something the matter?” 

Silva pressed a note into Enjolras’ hand. “A message. Keep it close.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as he unfolded the paper to find these words in French: _The General will see you in the next room._ He looked to Silva, who nodded quickly. “Thank you for this short conversation, _Senors_ , but I am needed elsewhere,” he said as he got to his feet to follow his host away from the festivities.


	38. The Duke of La Victoria

**Chapter 38: The Duke of La Victoria**

Enjolras was shown into a room that was actually a screened in terrace that offered an excellent view of Madrid under the moonlight. Seated on an ornately carved wooden chair was a man clad in full military regalia. He had a full head of black hair, a broad brow, while his mustache and goatee were carefully groomed. His dark eyes scrutinized the newcomer before him with a stymied as well as calculating air. “At last we meet, _Senor_ Enjolras,” he said.

The younger man bowed slightly. “Good evening, General Espartero.”

Baldomero Espartero smiled bemusedly. “Some would say the Duke of La Victoria, but it is true that you do not care for titles of nobility.” 

“I apologize if that was off-putting,” Enjolras said candidly as he took a seat on a less elaborate chair. “I take that the rest of this gathering is unaware that you are on the premises?”

The general shook his head. “There will be a time for that. Is Ambassador Belmont already out of danger?”

“He is.” Enjolras paused as a servant brought in a cup of black coffee and a glass of red wine. “Surely you did not ask me here solely to discuss his health?” he added as he picked up the coffee.

“I know that the Ambassador has been harboring a known Catalonian agitator. You are already acquainted with him, this _Senor_ Pasqual,” Espartero said. He picked up the glass of wine and took a sip. “Pasqual loves Catalonia with the same passion that the rest of us love Spain. But therein lies the trouble with him and his fellow agitators; they consider themselves as Catalonians before they are Spaniards.”

“A sentiment that would only be natural in territories that are used to autonomy, and have had it diminished, eroded, or otherwise lost by an arbitrary act,” Enjolras pointed out.

“Do you speak also of the Basques?”

“As a general observation.”

Espartero swilled the wine in his glass. “As Regent, it is my duty to manage the political and administrative affairs of this kingdom only till the Queen comes of rightful age. I cannot hand it back to her in a fragmented and disorderly state. We have only just begun to recoup after war and allowing foment and dissolution in places like Barcelona would fracture Spain.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as he set down his coffee cup. “I perceive you are speaking of Barcelona as a center for dissent?”

“Not only dissent, but rebellion. I have only just finished quashing one,” Espartero said firmly. “A country as diverse and old as France does have its share of divisions, does it not?”

“Most famously the divide between the north and the south, but much of that has been blurred by past events beginning from 1789.” Enjolras saw Espartero’s eyebrows quirk upwards with curiosity. “Unlike here in Spain, we no longer have noble titles or small fiefdoms; the lines of the old kingdoms have been broken down irretrievably.”

“As well as the kingdom at large. You have not had a king in ten years,” Espartero observed. “It will not do here in Spain.”

‘And why would you say so?”

“Our royal line is not disrupted, and much of society still puts its trust in the power of a wise monarch. A firm but forward-looking leader would do much to lead Spain into this century.” The general took another sip of wine. “You might have heard that I detest using cruelty or excessive force when it comes to the treatment of the vanquished in combat. Politics is entirely a different matter, unfortunately, and sometimes more forceful means have to be used to prevent the effects of dissent.”

“Force has its place as well as dissent,” Enjolras pointed out. “The latter need not always be answered with the former; it might be said that a healthy amount is needed for a government to see its way clearly.”

“You are speaking like a moderate.”

“I am speaking from knowing some of the errors of our imperfect past.”

Espartero set down his glass and sighed deeply. “Clearly you are not a military man, even though you have led men and fighters in combat.”

“I do not deny it.”

“ You know what would happen if I let the dissent in the North go unchecked? The local militia would be forced to side with the people that these agitators have stirred up. That would then cause even more chaos and bloodshed that would only be quelled through a definitive action or show of force. It would of course give the moderates more reason to decry the name of Progress.” Espartero shook his head ruefully. “There is an expression that you French have for it, called ‘unpaving hell’?”

Enjolras smirked at this phrase that he had not heard for some years. “It was meant more in the context of our street wars, but it has been used in a broader sense.”

“Admittedly some of the daring and adventurism of these dissenters has been inspired by the events over the past years on French soil. It has shaken most of Europe,” Espartero said sternly. “So far Madrid has been very open to passage and commerce over our shared border with France, but I may be forced to put a more stringent watch if it is found that there are French adventurers crossing into the north of Spain to further fuel the state of affairs there.”

“Such efforts of course would be disavowed by our government; it is not our policy to send _agents provocateurs_ to sow discord and violence among our neighbors or cause instability in their domestic affairs,” Enjolras answered more tersely.

“It would only be right to do so, as our King Ferdinand refused to allow any Spanish agents to go over the border to foment any unrest in France after your revolution ten years ago, nor did he sanction the machinations of the _émigré_ community here,” Espartero remarked. He was silent for a while as he looked out over the city. “I defended him and his wife and his daughter, against their pretender kin who had the gall to use the Basque provinces as his stronghold. This is also, as you can see, another reason I will not brook contradiction from them,” he added.

‘ _All well and good for a general, but what of a Regent?’_ Enjolras mused as he swilled the coffee around in his half-full cup. “You do not foresee any other way that this strain can be resolved other than a show of force?”

“I will do what I must,” Espartero insisted firmly before draining his glass of wine. He wiped his mouth and then looked at the younger man. “Since we are speaking rather freely here, there is a question I wish to ask.”

“You may.”

“A number of years ago, you were one of the most prominent men in the French legislature, mentioned often in the same breath as Lafayette. When Lafayette resigned his office as the head of the government, why did you not ascend to that post even if there was a clamor for you to do so?”

Enjolras frowned at the memory of this debacle just five years ago, at the end of his term at the Parisian branch of the legislature. ‘ _Ultimately the uproar coupled with the weather put Lafayette in his grave that year,’_ he thought. “I believed—and still do--that the best way to solidify the gains of our Republic, its Constitution and its systems was to strengthen the implementing institutions,” he began. “Some of the biggest corrections at that juncture were needed in the judiciary, which was meant to serve as the legislature’s co-equal, and as an adjunct to the initiatives and directives of our executive ministries. It was there that I elected to move on next.”

“A progressive of your caliber at the helm would have made France truly formidable,” Espartero pointed out. “To be mighty is to command the respect of Europe.”

“And so is to be free and equitable,” Enjolras said, looking straight at the older man. “It is not merely respect that should be cultivated but rather the ideal.”

Espartero was quiet for a long moment as he looked out again over the city. “I heard that you will be heading for Italy soon. You would do well to be careful there,” he said at last. “When is your departure?”

“We sail from Valencia on the 31st,” Enjolras said before he finished what was left of his coffee. “I thank you for this discussion, General.”

“I should have known better than to believe that you would be swayed,” Espartero said wryly as he stood up and donned his hat. “God protect you and your companions on your voyage, _Senor_ Enjolras.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, nodding to Espartero before the latter left the terrace. ‘ _That will be a surprise for the rest of the party,’_ he thought, more so when he heard the exclamations and shouts of greeting from the ongoing celebration below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historically, Lafayette passed on in 1834. I just had him hang around a little longer in this AU. 
> 
> And Espartero was really a leader in Spain at this time, handling a regency left to him by another regent (Maria Cristina, the former Queen Consort of Ferdinand VII, who was filling in for her then underaged daughter). While he was a progressive by standards of those days, his authoritarian ways did not endear him to many.


	39. Home in Uproar

**Chapter 39: Home in Uproar**

Even with all the haste involved in packing up, settling small charges, and securing travel documents, it still felt like an eternity to Eponine till at last she laid eyes on the platform of the Bercy station in Paris on the morning of the 30th of May. ‘ _I never thought I’d come home so soon, only to have to leave again so quickly,’_ she thought as she waited for the stationmaster to hand back some passports to her, as well as Neville, Combeferre, Claudine, Lamarre, and the two Calamys. “After we stop by the Home Office at the Hotel de Ville, we need to go to the Latin Quartier,” Eponine said.

“What is in the Latin Quartier?” Admiral Calamy asked.

“Family,” Eponine replied as they went to fetch their luggage. ‘ _It is a Monday though, so everyone will be going this way and that on their own affairs,’_ she thought. Yet all the same she could not help but smiling on seeing how the sun fell on that neighborhood once known as Picpus, or even on catching a faint whiff of the aromas of rosemary and lilies on the breeze.

“We’ll bring your baggage ahead to the Rue Guisarde,” Combeferre offered. “Neville has a key, doesn’t he?”

Neville grinned as he dug into his pockets and brought out a small purse, from which he produced a single key. “See, I’ve taken care of this all this while.”

“That’s good to know,” Eponine said. Apart from that one mishap in Clerkenwell, which she still was unsure as to how to discuss with her brother, she had to admit that he had acquitted himself well during their journey. ‘ _I shouldn’t be surprised if he should be asked to go on more in the future,’_ she decided as she watched Combeferre assist the porters with some of the more delicate valises, while Claudine and Neville made an inventory of the baggage.

Lamarre nodded grimly to her. “I will make a quick report to the Home Office and try to expedite our travel papers for Italy,” he said. “Are you both calling on the English consulate in Paris?” he asked the Calamys.

“It would be the proper thing to do,” Victoria said. “Where and when shall we meet after we are done with our respective meetings?”

“I will meet you at the English consulate, and we will go to our accommodations,” Lamarre answered. “We shall have much to prepare especially if all goes according to plan.”

‘ _The problem is finding enough hours for it, really,’_ Eponine noted even as the Calamys took their leave, allowing for her and Lamarre to head to the Hotel de Ville.

Just as they were entering this building, Eponine caught sight of a familiar, lanky figure also heading for the entrance. ‘ _That wiry hair is unmistakable even under a hat, ‘_ she thought as she waved to this friend. “Feuilly!”

Feuilly stopped in his tracks and turned around. “Eponine? What are you doing here?”

“I s’pose I should ask the same thing myself!” Eponine laughed incredulously as she hurried to him. “I thought you and your family would still be in Poland!”

“Some urgent matters brought us back here,” Feuilly replied. He nodded to Lamarre cordially. “Thank you for bringing my dear friend back safely. How about the Combeferres and Neville?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Also back in Paris, and settling in,” Lamarre said. “I’ll go ahead inside and leave you two to catch up first.”

‘ _It isn’t as if I can step inside the Home Office anyway myself,’_ Eponine thought as she nodded to Lamarre, then looked again to Feuilly. “I got your letter but a whole month late. I figured it would be better to head straight back here and find out what’s the trouble, instead of risking the message getting lost,” she said in an undertone.

“That is the same reason that I brought Leonor and Sophie back here to Paris. We left Krakow early in May, and have been back in Paris for a few days now,” Feuilly said.

“Was Krakow beautiful?” Eponine asked. “You never said so in your writing.”

“It is one of my favorite cities, second only to Paris. I am sorry we had to leave it just when Leonor was tolerating it and Sophie was already half in love with it.” Feuilly paused to wipe his face with a handkerchief. “Have you heard from Enjolras?”

“Last I heard he and my brother were in Madrid; they should be on their way to Valencia now so they can sail to Italy,” Eponine answered. She felt something in her stomach sink as she saw Feuilly’s brow furrow with concern. “They’re heading into trouble, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are going to the very source of it. It is doubtful that any efforts to warn them or the Italian diplomats will ever reach those shores in time.”

“Well that is why I am going to him myself.”

Feuilly smacked his forehead with his palm. “I should have expected you would do exactly that. You know what you and Enjolras will be up against?”

“People who confuse diplomacy with the Pope’s business,” Eponine said with a shrug. “I won’t be alone; Combeferre insists on coming, Lamarre will also join us, and there’s also Mrs. Victoria Calamy and her husband the Admiral.”

“What? The Calamys?”

“Yes, the very same you overheard talking in Piccadilly the first time you went to London all those years ago. They just went to the English consulate now to make a courtesy call.”

Feuilly’s jaw dropped. “Are you sure it is wise to travel with them?”

“I’ve thought about it, and as long as we don’t go about things nastily, we might be able to learn quite a bit,” Eponine pointed out. “Besides they were far more gracious to us in England than a lot of other people were, including your colleague Citizen Delaroche.”

“I’ve seen you get into a lot of incredible situations, either by yourself or with Enjolras, but this has to be the most dangerous yet,” Feuilly said, shaking his head before motioning for her to follow him inside and upstairs, where the diplomatic corps’ Home Office was situated.

They arrived on the busy second floor just in time to see Lamarre leaving a meeting room, wearing a grim expression. “Looks like there is much afoot, especially on the continent,” he said knowingly to Feuilly.

“An internal review will be necessary,” Feuilly said. “And when do you intend to leave?”

“Tomorrow. I got these signed right away, thanks to Citizen Delaroche writing an endorsement,” Lamarre said, indicating some new papers he had with him. He turned at the sound of another door opening. “Good day to you, Citizen D’Aramitz.”

“I didn’t know you were already back in Paris, Citizen Lamarre,” the man named D’Aramitz said dryly. “And apparently Citizenness Enjolras too.”

‘ _The man looks like he belongs more in a graveyard,’_ Eponine thought, noting this stranger’s black attire and hooked nose. “Have we met already, Citizen D’Aramitz?” she asked.

“More like we haven’t been properly introduced,” D’Aramitz answered. “I was with your husband and your brother in Spain, till I was sent back here on an important errand while we were in Zaragoza,” he explained.

‘ _That was nearly three weeks ago,’_ Eponine realized. She took a deep breath before meeting D’Aramitz’s hooded eyes. “Were they well when you left them, Citizen?”

“As well as can be expected,” D’Aramitz said before making a bow. “Unfortunately, urgent affairs preclude my staying to chat. Welcome back to Paris, Citizenness Enjolras.”

‘ _For now,’_ Eponine thought as she watched D’Aramitz leave. “I wonder how he got on while he was in Spain with Antoine,” she mused aloud.

“It doesn’t suit his temperament, to be honest,” Feuilly said. He winced at the sound of more hubbub from a nearby room. “Right now I need to finish some work, while you need to catch up with your English guests,” he said to Eponine and Lamarre before tipping his hat to them and heading into another room.

Eponine gestured to the papers Lamarre had. “Is that our itinerary?”

Lamarre nodded. “We will take the south train past Lyon, and then change lines at St. Rambert so we will reach Grenoble. From there we will ride to the border of Italy. We will pass through Milan and Verona to get to Venice.”

‘ _Is it possible that we might meet Antoine and Jacques on the way?’_ Eponine wondered silently but she shook her head to clear away this fantasy. “Do they not have trains in Italy, like they do all over England and here in France?”

“If the Pope could help it, there never would be,” Lamarre said as they made their way out of the Hotel de Ville. “I will contact you and Citizen Combeferre once I have arranged for our train ride to St. Rambert,” he added.

“That is a part of France I have never been to,” Eponine quipped before they parted ways, with the diplomat heading to the English consulate while she found an omnibus bound for the Latin Quartier across the Seine.

When she arrived at 9 Rue Guisarde, she found her brother Neville setting out shirts, trousers and other articles of clothing on his bed. “How long will we be in Italy, Ponine?” he asked.

Eponine shook her head as she doffed her hat. “You won’t be going to Italy, Neville.” She bit her lip as her brother’s eyes widened with disbelief. “I need you to go to Aix.”

“What am I going to do in Aix?” Neville spluttered.

“I need you to bring a letter for me to Louis,” Eponine explained. “And I need you to take care of the children for me till I bring your brother and Antoine back here to France.”

Neville sighed as he sat on his bed. “This is because of what happened in Clerkenwell?”

It was all that Eponine could do not to cringe at that memory of seeing her brother in the gin palace. “Even if you hadn’t gone out that night, I would still have to send you to Aix anyway,” she began. “I know you want to stay in Paris, but you know that Azelma doesn’t have room, nor does Gavroche, and it’s too much to ask Claudine to put you up when she has to care for her twins while Combeferre is with us in Italy.”

“I was thinking I could go to Italy with you,” Neville argued.

“And why?”

“Jacques is my brother too, and Enjolras is my brother-in-law. I want to help them too.”

“Yes, but I’d really rather have you safe,” Eponine pointed out. “If you were older maybe, or if we knew what we would really find in Italy, I’d think it over a little. But it is not the way it is, and we cannot take that chance.”

Neville was quiet for a few moments before he nodded slowly. “You’d better stay safe and come back soon as you can. I won’t know what to tell the little ones, especially Laure, if you don’t ever show up again.”

“Of course I will,” Eponine replied. “Now I s’pose I should leave you to finish your packing, but more for the country than the city this time.”

Neville chuckled for a moment before giving his sister a serious look. “If I’d known we’d be going to that sort of place in Clerkenwell, I would have told the boys I’d stay home,” he said at length. “You believe me don’t you, Ponine?”

“I know you’d never lie about that sort of thing,” Eponine said. “But you know why I had to pull you out of there in the first place?”

“Because I had too much of that gin, and I wouldn’t have made it back to Piccadilly in any good sort of way?”

“I s’pose there’s that, but I didn’t want you to regret what happened in the morning.”

“I got a terrible headache when I woke up,” Neville shrugged. “But the other boys were saying that I would get to practice on those girls. What exactly do they mean?”

Eponine bit her lip at the mention of this sort of talk; once again she could see the darkest corners of the neighborhood of the Temple and the leering faces of some of the men who would be waiting in these shadows. “That’s the talk of boys who think that ladies are to be toyed with, or simply set aside when they’ve had their fun,” she said tersely.

“You and Enjolras have told us boys differently,” Neville pointed out. “You won’t tell him about what happened, please?”

“Not a word,” Eponine promised before heading downstairs to the study. She quickly located a clean sheet of paper left on her desk, and sat down to pen these words.

_May 30, 1842_

_Paris_

_Dear Louis,_

_I am glad to finally be writing to you from home again. Your most recent letter as well as Monique’s cheered me up greatly, especially your telling of the amusing things that Laure, Julien and Etienne have been doing. I’m sorry if my letters have not been very regular; the mail coming to and from France has had some problems._

_You might be surprised that Neville has turned up to stay the rest of the summer, without me, Antoine or Jacques there. The truth is that I’m going to Italy to bring Antoine and Jacques back. There’s been some trouble among the diplomats among different countries, and agents being where they shouldn’t be. I can’t tell everything, nor do I know everything, but it is enough to say that no mail is safe, and that Antoine and my brother might be walking into danger._

_I am sure that we will be back soon; I suppose by the middle of July at the latest unless the roads in Italy are really as bad as I hear they are. If the worst ever happens, which I believe is not likely to be so, I think you will know what to tell the little ones and Neville. Courfeyrac and Marius will know what to do with all things legal if it should ever come to that._

_Please do not tell Monique just yet. I don’t want her worrying about us unless she absolutely has to. Thank you so much for this._

_Your friend,_

_Eponine_

Eponine set down her pen and buried her face in her hands for a moment. “How much longer till all will be well?” she asked aloud before getting up to begin to pack for the trip.


	40. La Serenissima

**Chapter 40: La Serenissima**

Although Eponine knew better than to expect any sort of luxury during the nine-day journey to Venice, nothing quite prepared her for the travelers’ inns and accommodations along their route. “I know my parents did not run business well in Montfermeil when I was a little girl, but we never had stew that could burn your tongue with so much salt!” she muttered on the morning of the 8th of June as they were departing a hostel in Padua.

“Never mind the salt; I could have sworn they stuffed our mattresses with twigs,” Lamarre groused as he rubbed his neck. He winced as he tried to find a more comfortable position in the cramped backward facing coach seat he was forced to share with Combeferre; Eponine and the two Calamys had the forward-facing seat since it was more spacious. “I had one poking into me all night.”

“I would have taken that over the bedbugs,” Victoria chimed in. “Give me a cramped bed or a lumpy one any day, but I’d rather not be killing vermin till dawn. I don’t know how Peter here slept through it all,” she added, giving her husband a baleful look.

“I’ve learned to tolerate much at sea,” Admiral Calamy said. “But if this is how Italian hospitality is, I do not want to imagine the conditions they have on their navy ships.”

“One can hope they have followed the reforms of the English navy,” Combeferre mused. With the new sanitation practices such as regularly cleaning the decks, there is much less risk of disease and contagion.”

“I believe that a ship’s company is only as strong as its weakest or frailest man, and a squadron is only as strong as its weakest ship,” Admiral Calamy said proudly.

‘ _But how strong can anyone be if they are forced to stay aboard a ship for so long?’_ Eponine wondered even as Combeferre began discussing avidly with Admiral Calamy the various merits of both the French and the English navies. She peered out the window and found she had to shield her eyes from the sun, if only to get a better view of the rolling hills covered with lush greenery, occasionally interspersed with villages alongside vast fields. ‘ _Somehow this seems so much more alive than anything in England,’_ she thought.

After a while she could smell that unmistakable tang of sea and salt in the air, prompting her to look out once again. “Is that Venice over there?” she asked, pointing to a sprawling view of domed churches and steep towers on the horizon.

“Yes. If you think that is impressive, wait till we have actually arrived,” Victoria said with a wistful smile. “I heard it was even more grand before this territory came under Austrian control.”

“And how did that happen?”

“Yet another nasty trick by the Corsican.”

‘ _Some things will never change no matter how agreeable she is,’_ Eponine thought, willing herself to ignore this jibe about Napoleon. As they approached the city she could see more clearly that the buildings stood only a few feet above crisscrossing canals that flowed out to the sea further in the distance. “There must be bridges everywhere in Venice then,” she mused aloud.

“Not quite; the city has its fleet of watercraft of all sorts,” Admiral Calamy said.

“What, just like our fiacres in Paris or London’s hackney coaches?”

“Yes, but more scenic.”

“Not exactly the open seas, but there is a unique charm to it” Victoria said to her husband.

Eponine snorted at this, only to notice that Lamarre’s expression had suddenly turned grim. “What’s happened?” she whispered.

Lamarre wiped his brow. “The Home Office did not give any orders for Citizen Enjolras to be recalled home. All we are doing is a little investigation, and perhaps persuading your husband and his companions here to take the adequate precautions.”

“Wasn’t that to be expected?”

“We may very well find ourselves joining them if we are not careful.”

“I s’pose you think that you’ll just be able to go back to France once you’ve found some answers, and that’s all well and good on paper. I’m sure that the Calamys will finish their investigation on their own schedule, and leave when it pleases them,” Eponine said. “That’s not going to happen to me and Citizen Combeferre.”

Lamarre sucked in a breath between gritted teeth. “You said you would bring Citizen Enjolras and your brother back, not accompany them.”

“That’s true, but I didn’t exactly say _when_ ,” Eponine pointed out.

The diplomat winced before looking at Eponine seriously. “Then you mean to accompany them throughout Italy?”

“If they must. I s’pose they might need it,” she replied. She shuddered as she recalled some of Enjolras’ more disquieted letters; everything from the choice of words to the slant of his penmanship were signs of a man with great cares to conceal. ‘ _Perhaps he will tell me once we meet,’_ she told herself as the carriage came to a stop along a quay. “We’re there already?”

“Not exactly yet,” Victoria said, gesturing to a strait that stood between them and the splendid city-island some distance away. “No need to worry about being seasick; it is a very short crossing,” she reassured their group.

‘ _It’s at least much shorter than the crossing from Calais to Dover,’_ Eponine reassured herself as they unloaded their luggage from the carriage while Victoria negotiated with a boatman. It was all that Eponine could do not to burst out laughing on hearing Victoria’s heavily accented and slightly broken Italian. “Do you think she’d have an easier time of it if she just used Latin?” she asked Combeferre in an undertone.

“Latin is not that expressive,” Combeferre pointed out amusedly, glancing at the boatman who was gesticulating while Victoria was haggling the fare with him.

“I don’t see why it has to be learned, when we have French equivalents for most terms used in law, medicine and other professions. Even the churchmen can save some breath with more French instead of Latin.”

“Classicism, pure and simple.”

Eponine frowned for a moment till she saw Victoria walking over to them. “How goes it with you?” she asked by way of greeting.

“We will take two different boats; one will not be enough to fit all of us and our luggage, even with the little we all brought,” Victoria said, gesturing to two large gondolas being readied for the crossing. “Peter and I will be taking different accommodations from you three as well.”

“But why?”

“It would excite too much comment if all of us were seen lodging under the same roof,”

‘ _Especially if people knew what we were about,’_ Eponine conceded silently. “Then when and where will we next meet?” she asked.

“The afternoon of the 10th, two days from now. We will meet at the Clock Tower in the Piazza San Marco,” the older woman answered. “You’ll find it impossible to miss that square.”

“I could guess where it is,” Eponine said, glancing to where there was a large tower with a steep roof, rising from among the ornate buildings opposite them. “I will look for something tall that isn’t a church.”

“You will find they are nearly one and the same here,” Victoria pointed out dryly before going to give Lamarre some instructions.

Combeferre shrugged at this, more so when Eponine shook her head. “In the time of our grandparents, France was very nearly the same way,” he remarked.

“It would be like asking two heads to get a single thing done,” Eponine quipped even as she saw Lamarre signaling to them. “Are we ready to go?” she asked him as she tugged her gloves down over her wrists. 

“In a few minutes. Citizenness Calamy suggests that we stay at the _Pensione de Caro_ , if it is still standing,” the diplomat informed them. “Unless you have other preferences?”

Combeferre took off his spectacles to wipe them clean. “We aren’t particular.”

“It’s new and all the same to us,” Eponine added. Even so, she swallowed hard and took a deep breath as she, Combeferre and Lamarre boarded one of the gondolas already loaded with their baggage. ‘ _The water cannot be that deep, I hope,’_ she thought as the watercraft crossed the calm channel ahead of them. The passage was full of other gondolas and different sorts of boats, many of them gaily painted and decked out according to the tastes of their respective owners.

Much to her surprise the gondolier paddling the boat from the stern did not off-load them on the other side, but instead turned to steer them up a smaller canal that ran between two rows of houses. “Why, this serves well in place of a street!” she exclaimed, seeing how many of these residences had terraces and even doorways overlooking the waterfront.

The gondolier laughed heartily. “Is this the _signora_ ’s first visit to Venice?” he asked in heavily accented English.

Eponine paused at this new form of address before smiling. “Yes. I never thought a city could be crossed with boats in this way before; most cities I know have a single river or so running through them, but nothing like this!”

“Venice is a floating city; these islands were once marshy but were turned habitable,” the gondolier explained. “It is so peaceful that it is called _La Serenissima_ sometimes.”

“It is also referred to as _La Dominante_ owing to its political history and importance,” Combeferre also observed. “Do you often get other visitors from places outside Italy?”

“Sometimes. There was a time when many young gentlemen would tour Venice—not that we Venetians ever sent many of our own to tour the rest of Europe,” the gondolier said. “And where are you two _signors_ and the _signora_ from?”

“France,” Lamarre answered simply as the gondola stopped outside a narrow walkway running alongside several houses. He brought out his wallet and pressed a coin into the gondolier’s hand. “For your silence.”

“Where did you get that?” Combeferre asked as he stepped out of the boat first to help his two companions out.

“Had some currency changed when we were at Padua,” Lamarre said as he began to help unload their baggage from the gondola. He looked up at the simple façade of the inn they were at; apart from two terraces on each of the two upper floors, there was little to distinguish this edifice from its neighbors. “I hope there are still rooms available.”

Eponine knocked quickly on the door. “Good day! Have you got room?” she called.

The door opened and a puny, angular man stepped out, surveying them keenly from head to toe. He had a wrinkled waistcoat over a plain blue shirt, and trousers rolled up and tucked into his boots. His graying hair crept down to past the tops of his ears and occasionally flopped into his eyes. “And who might you be?” he asked slowly in Italian.

“We’re three travelers from France,” Combeferre explained carefully in French, smiling when the proprietor nodded to show his comprehension. “Do you have any rooms available?”

“Yes, only two. One for the gentleman here,” the proprietor said slowly in French, indicating Lamarre. “And another room one large enough for the couple here,” he added, indicating Eponine and Combeferre.

“ _Signor_ , we aren’t married to each other,” Combeferre explained quickly. “I will simply share a room with my friend here, and the _signora_ can have the better room.”

The proprietor nodded and extended a hand. “Well I am _Signor_ Pietro de Caro; this house has been in my family for four generations. Welcome to Venice,” he said with a smile as he stepped aside to let the travelers into his establishment.

‘ _Sounds like he is more careful than my father ever was,’_ Eponine could not help thinking as they stepped into a large entryway that featured a sweeping staircase leading to the second floor and a sunlit hall that opened out into a living room with elegantly carved furniture and ornamented with white clay pots bearing figures of different scenes from Greek myths. Further down was a kitchen the seemed to beckon to the curious with the aromas of various herbs being used for lunch. “I should remember to thank _Signora_ Calamy for the recommendation, _Signor_ de Caro,” she said amiably to their host.

“Ah, the lovely English _signora_ sent you here?” the Venetian said with a broad grin “She’s a most charming guest. How is that husband of hers?”

“Very well,” Lamarre said. “As soon as we are settled, I will present our travel papers to the French consul here, Citizen Brisbois. Until we get news, we have this day and the others to follow at our leisure.”

‘ _Until Antoine and Jacques arrive in Venice, that is,’_ Eponine thought as they brought their luggage up to their rooms. She smiled when she stepped into the room that de Caro had set aside for her; it was a tidy and sumptuous chamber furnished with a four poster bed, a dressing table made to match an armoire of white wood, a polished writing desk and an armchair upholstered in pink satin. She grinned as she unlaced her boots and stepped out of them to walk barefoot on the soft carpet, and then walked over to the bed only to laugh when she nearly sunk into its featherbed. “I s’pose there is such a thing as a _little_ too much luxury!” she laughed before getting up to unpack her writing implements from her luggage.

_June 8, 1842_

_Venice, Italy_

_My dear sister,_

_I am writing to apologize for having left home so unceremoniously, almost as soon as I returned. I did arrange for N to send my greetings as well as the bolt of cloth you requested as well as the books and toys for your boys. N will also go south too, to also bring some gifts for my own children as well as A’s parents._

_I wish I could tell you more about why we are here in Venice, but there will come a time for that. Still I want you and G to know that we are well, and the city is magnificent. Instead of a parade of carriages, one may very well have here a parade of wonderful boats of all sorts. Since Venice is by the sea, the air here is very healthful and bracing. I wonder if it will be much the same even in winter, but for now we will enjoy the warmth of the summer._

_Since I have missed the celebrations we always have each year in Paris on the 5 th of June, please do write about it. Please tell me everything about it, from the fete in the street, the dinners you have attended and of course the performance of J’s work written to honor the occasion. I’d like to imagine it somehow despite being so far away. _

_With all fondness,_

_E_

Eponine sighed as she set down her pen and put the letter aside to dry. “I will make sure to send this to Azelma once it is safe, or if maybe I could be confident of the Italian post,” she mused aloud before getting up to draw the curtains to let some light into the room and admire the view of the crystalline blue canal that passed in front of the house. She opened her valise and shook out the gowns she had brought before arranging them in the armoire. As she did so she could hear the regular splashing from passing gondolas and barges, interspersed at times with snatches of different Italian songs that she could not help but smile at. ‘ _I wonder what people would say if they heard me sing something from our cafes in Paris,’_ she thought mischievously.

When she turned around after a long while she saw a gondola noiselessly floating down the waterway, but most unusually the boat was covered by a small tent that sheltered all occupants except for the gondolier. “What, even in summer?” Eponine asked aloud as she went to the terrace. As she stepped out, the gondola passing by suddenly sped up with the gondolier paddling more quickly than before.

A knock sounded on the door. “Everything well there?” Combeferre asked.

“Yes of course,” Eponine said, going to the door without bothering to put on her shoes. She nodded to both Combeferre and Lamarre, who were waiting out the door. “Were you just about to set out for the consulate, Citizen?” she asked Lamarre.

“Actually I have just returned; our envoy Citizen Brisbois was rushing to another appointment,” Lamarre replied. He handed a single card to Eponine. “We three are expected at a ball being given by _Signor_ Giovanni Riva, one of the consul’s chief allies here in this city.”

Eponine cringed. “Not another dance! And how do they do things here in Italy?”

“With more grandeur than Paris but less rigmarole than London,” Combeferre said. “This time however we are not here to impress.”

“At least thank God in heaven for that!” Eponine whispered before glancing back towards the window and the undisturbed waterway below.


	41. A Nightmare in a Bottle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for use of opium/laudanum, and mention of grievous injury at the barricade.

**Chapter 41: A Nightmare in a Bottle**

_May 27, 1842_

_Madrid, Spain_

_My friend Belmont,_

_Please accept my gratitude for your kindness and hospitality throughout our venture here in Spain. It is clear that you have gone above and beyond of what is expected of a diplomat in these circumstances. While the fruits of what assistance I have rendered you may take some time to be known, I am confident that when you are able to make a more proper presentation to the Cortes that you will be more than equipped. I would advise some caution however regarding any future dealings with Citizen D’Aramitz; it is clear there will be some damage to repair but I think with the help of Citizen de Polignac and others, all should be set to rights._

_Please extend my best wishes to Citizen Pasqual for his recovery. I sincerely hope that he will soon regain full use of his faculties, and that he will be restored to his family in good health. It is regretful that the Regent himself will not be swayed in his opinion, but I believe that prudence may serve to stay his hand somewhat, or at least mitigate the impact of what he may have planned._

_When you are next in Paris, please feel free to call at my residence at 9 Rue Guisarde. Certainly we will have happier tidings to discuss by then._

_Regards,_

_Antoine Enjolras_

Even days after Enjolras had handed this note personally to Belmont before taking leave of him, he still could not help but mull over what he had learned during the latter part of his stay in Madrid even after several days. ‘ _Certainly there is more than mere professional jealousy afoot,’_ he thought as he looked out the window of the carriage that was bringing him and Jacques to Valencia on the 31st of May.

Jacques on the other hand was absorbed in studying his book of Italian phrases. “Venice is on the other side of Italy, so we will sail all the way there?” he asked.

“Only to Genoa. We will have a few additional days travelling by coach to Venice, because of the latter’s political importance,” Enjolras explained. “Then from there we will travel south through Bologna to reach Florence, where we will meet representatives from Sardinia, Modena, Parma and Tuscany itself. Then our last stop will be to Rome where will meet the Sicilians and the representatives from the Papal States.”

“You think we’ll have fun in Italy as we did in Spain?”

“I expect we’ll have much more work to do, given the more fragmented situation in Italy.”

Jacques sighed dramatically. “But Italy was the place people would go for tours! When are we ever going to get to see any of that?”

“Incidentally,” Enjolras deadpanned as the carriage suddenly took a sharp turn. “Is something wrong?” he asked the coachman.

“A lot of people in the streets; we are already in the city,” the coachman said. “Looks like there’s some trouble caused by republicans again.”

Enjolras looked out the window in time to see a number of men planting a red flag on a street corner as they held back another group of men advancing on them while bearing the coat of arms of the Spanish crown. “Who is leading them?” he asked.

“Don’t ask, _Senor_ , if you want to leave Spain in one piece.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow even as he heard a frantic knocking on the carriage door as the vehicle came to stop at a crowded intersection. “What is going on?” he asked, locking eyes with a frantic looking man carrying a large carpet bag, with his cravat askew and clothes looking like he had just escaped a scuffle.

“Let me in!” this stranger yelled in French.

Enjolras nodded for Jacques to open the door. Immediately, this man hopped in and slammed it shut. “Citizen Enjolras, forgive me for the unceremonious introduction; I was hoping to meet you at the docks, but this happened,” the stranger said breathlessly, gesturing to the enraged crowd they were leaving behind. “I am Camille LeClerc, from our French embassy to Italy. I took the liberty of coming here to Valencia to accompany you from here instead of waiting for you at Genoa.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Citizen LeClerc,” Enjolras said cordially. “I hope you didn’t forget anything important in your haste, such as your passport.”

LeClerc nodded as he brought out a small book from his coat pocket to show the bearing his credentials signed by the Home Office as well as the envoy in Italy. “And you have yours?”

Enjolras calmly brought out his own book, which had also been similarly fitted with his letters of endorsement. “This here is my brother-in-law, Citizen Jacques Thenardier,” he said, nodding to Jacques.

“Pleased to meet you,” LeClerc said before smoothing his clothes and hair out. In the morning light he seemed the very opposite of D’Aramitz with a round, earnest face and simply cut though brightly colored clothes. The diplomat shook his head as he glanced out the window once again. “I am sure you did not hear very much of this while you were in Madrid, but Valencia has been continually in a state of foment ever since Espartero came to power. Not because they are backward or Carlists, mind you, but because they want to take a step forward and do away with the monarchy all together.”

“Considering the trouble it seems to have caused these recent years, I am not surprised,” Enjolras said dryly. “Perhaps we should---”

“Ah Citizen it would not be wise to; I’ve heard talk of what happened in Madrid and I think your being seen would cause the uproar here especially with General Espartero’s opinion of you.”

“Indeed. Then how did you get caught up back there?”

“For some people here, a Frenchman is synonymous with a republican, which is very true in my case. A good thing I was able to get out, or they would have pressed a musket in my hands,” LeClerc explained. He sat back in the carriage seat and wiped his brow. “We have quite the voyage ahead of us. Have you ever been on a steamship before?”

“Never yet. I take they are now used widely in these parts?”

“Yes, and I must say they are far more reliable than good old sails. Still, a passage from Spain to Italy can extend up to nearly four days if we are so unlucky.”

Jacques twiddled his thumbs impatiently. “Will we see pirates?”

“I should hope not; I do not want to find myself being sold in some slave market,” LeClerc said, paling at this prospect. “That is an age-old danger for those who dare the sea route to Italy, but the land route is only marginally better now that there is a road from Grenoble in France to Turin in Italy. That way one does not have to enter Italy via the Saint Bernard Pass from Switzerland.”

Enjolras nodded even as the carriage came to a stop, this time right at the waterfront. From here he could see passengers were already boarding a large graceful steamship named _Thetis_. ‘ _Were it not for other pressing matters, we should not leave Spain just yet,’_ the thought occurred to him as he looked back at the city of Valencia. “I understand that these clashes are frequent occurrences here?” he asked in an undertone as he and Jacques began unloading the carriage.

“As often as _emeutes_ before Louis-Philippe was deposed,” LeClerc said confidentially as they handed off their baggage to porters who were loading the steamship via another ramp. “It isn’t the time yet for Valencia to be Lyon and for Madrid to become Paris.”

‘ _If Espartero walks the same line as Louis-Philippe did, he will be deposed by either the moderates he detests or the republicans he ignores,’_ Enjolras thought. “What are you looking for this time?” he asked Jacques, seeing that the boy was standing on tiptoe and craning his neck.

“I was wondering if that fighting would reach up to here,” Jacques said mildly, pointing to some flags being waved by a crowd approaching the dockyards.

Enjolras quickly motioned for Jacques and LeClerc to fall in with the queue of passengers boarding the _Thetis;_ he immediately got in behind them, all the while keeping an eye on the crowd being held off by guards at the docks’ entrance. Just before he himself was to board the steamship, the sound of a single shot pierced the air. Immediately the other passengers yelled and began to push and shove their way aboard the ship, making some nearly lose their footing on the steep boarding ramp. Enjolras gritted his teeth before pushing Jacques through the ensuing panic before diving in himself, throwing a hand over his face to protect his eyes from wayward umbrellas, canes, or other implements people were using to try to force their way through this crush. After several seconds his feet touched wood, and he found himself standing on the deck of the steamship. He looked back on the dockyard and saw that the crowd there had dispersed; the only sign now of any occurrence was an abandoned red flag dangling from the dockyard fence. 

LeClerc shook his head as he straightened out his clothes, which were now even more disheveled. “That is another incident that will not make the press at Madrid.”

“But we can write to _Senor_ Belmont about it?” Jacques asked Enjolras.

“Discreetly,” Enjolras said as they showed their tickets to an officer, who pointed the way to their cabins, where their luggage had already been brought.

LeClerc paused before entering his own accommodations. “I was not making light of the pirates along this route though. Have you got any sort of firearms with you?” he asked Enjolras

“A pair of pistols.”

“Keep them always with you. These pirates strike swiftly and lethally.”

As it turned out, the threat of a pirate attack proved to be less troublesome than the unusually rough seas that left most of the passengers nearly prostrate with seasickness. Much to Enjolras’ frustration, he found that he was not exempt from this and was more often than not fighting to hold down his latest meal. ‘ _If I had to fire a shot now, I’d be endangering innocents,’_ he thought one night as the _Thetis_ was being tossed about in the middle of a violent squall. Dinner had ended early amid an uproar of retching and people hastily excusing themselves. For his own part, Enjolras had held his own until he had reached the privacy of his cabin.

Once he was done being sick, he splashed some water on his face and rubbed his temples in an effort to stave off the lingering nausea. As he sat back on his bed he caught sight of a still unopened vial among his belongings. “If for anything the laudanum would help in getting some sleep,” he muttered as he grabbed the medication and held it up to the light to inspect the contents. As far as he could tell the laudanum tincture seemed unchanged from the time he had acquired it from Doctor Guerrero. He uncorked the vial and took a whiff of it, enough to have him wrinkling his nose. ‘ _No wonder he suggested diluting this,’_ he thought as he got up to find some spirits to mix with this tincture.

As discreetly as he could, Enjolras returned to the dining room and managed to acquire a glass of rum from a server. It was all that he could do to keep a straight face as he measured a tiny amount of the tincture into the drink, and downed the mixture in one go. He quickly returned to his room and lay down, not even bothering to undress for bed.

_Everything in the Rue de Chanvrerie reeked of powder and blood; in fact the very air was thick with smoke as he climbed again up the barricade. The red flag was hanging in tatters now, pierced by volley after volley of shots from the National Guard._

_Just before Enjolras could fire again from his carbine, he heard a sound from the redoubt behind him, making him turn around. At that moment something collided with his back, sending him falling down to the unpaved street. The impact knocked the breath out of his lungs, leaving him gasping for air as shots continued to ring out over him. When he tried to help himself up to his feet, he realized that he could feel nothing below his waist, and that his legs were limp. All attempts to sit up only sent more shooting pain up his back and into every other nerve._

_As he fell back on the ground he saw the National Guard swarming over the barricade, bayonets at the ready. He saw a guardsman face off against Feuilly, only to run the latter through with a bayonet. Bossuet’s unmoving form lay on top of Joly’s corpse, both of them having been felled by a cannon blast. Courfeyrac had lost his hat, and now had pressed a bloody rag to his forehead. Before this gallant could raise his sword-cane again, a guardsman shot him at point blank range. Enjolras shouted and tried to reach out in vain once more, just as a sickening thud sounded next to his head. He found himself staring into Combeferre’s eyes just as the spark of life was fading there; in the young doctor’s arms was a soldier he had been trying to save._

_Enjolras shut his eyes, hoping for oblivion to take him. “That was not what happened; it was just a dream. They are alive today,” he told himself over and over. All of a sudden he no longer felt the ground at his back and the odors of shot and blood had somehow dissipated. He was standing once again, and when he took a step forward his feet moved with his will._

_When he opened his eyes again he was standing in the living room at 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire. Before he could ask if either Marius or Cosette were around, he heard a door open. “You shouldn’t be here, Enjolras,” a voice greeted coolly._

_“Eponine?” he asked, turning around to face her. She stood in the doorway looking unlike he had ever seen her, with her rich auburn hair piled atop her head in an elaborate coiffure with feathers and beads. She wore an elaborately beaded dress of gold silk, cut in the latest fashion that showed much of her shoulders and collarbones. A heavy necklace of rubies and matching bracelets completed the ensemble._

_“I never thought I would see you pine. You, the revolutionary who said he had no time for anyone else,” she said with a derisive laugh. “Look how pathetic you are.”_

_He looked steadily at her, searching for any warmth in her unforgiving gaze. “Why are you saying these things?” he asked._

_“Don’t play the fool with me, Enjolras,” she said, stepping towards him. “Besides why would I choose you? You, a dreamer who can offer me only your visions, when I have the very sort of man my mother would have wanted for me?”_

_It was then that Enjolras saw the glittering gold ring on her left hand. Before he could ask who it was from, he heard a voice calling for Eponine. “It cannot be…” he muttered even as he saw Eponine leave without so much as a glance at him, only to meet none other than Marius’ cousin Theodule Gillenormand in the hall._

_“Eponine!” he called to her, but she had already slammed the front door behind her. He shut his eyes and shook his head, feeling now as if he had been punched in the stomach. “It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream----” he whispered._

_Suddenly light flooded his vision and he opened his eyes once more to find himself standing in a sunlit church. He squinted against the glare in his vision, only to realize that he was dressed in a formal suit, with a cravat knotted most uncomfortably against his neck. He looked out on the congregation, all of whom were just as splendidly dressed but whose faces were vague to him. He looked back in time to see a priest standing a few feet away, but before Enjolras could say a word the strains of a wedding march rang through the church._

_Enjolras turned to see the doors to the nave open to admit a woman clad in a dress of pure white, so radiant that it was almost blinding. Her face was obscured by a fine lace veil, such that he could not divine her appearance even with his keen vision. When the bride placed her hands in his, her fingers were smooth and cool._

_Before the priest could begin the marriage rite, Enjolras quickly reached forward and yanked away the veil of the woman before him. “No…” he whispered even as he was met by Celeste Berlioz’s triumphant smile._

Enjolras sat up in bed, only to groan and rub his eyes as he was greeted with the early morning sun streaming through the cabin window. He took a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart before he got out of bed to look at the now becalmed sea outside. ‘ _I should toss that laudanum out,’_ he thought, but as soon as his fingers closed around the vial he thought the better of it and simply pushed it to the bottom of his valise.

A knock sounded on the cabin door. “Citizen Enjolras? Are you well?” LeClerc asked concernedly on the other side.

“Now I am,” Enjolras replied in a level tone. He took off his shirt, which was soaked through with cold sweat, before going to open the cabin window to let in the crisp new morning air.


	42. La Dominante

**Chapter 42: La Dominante**

After the _Thetis_ docked in Genoa, the three travelers braced for the four days-long carriage trip to Venice. “Do you think someone could invent a new craft that could take us into the air, so we won’t have to take these bumpy roads?” Jacques asked on the morning of the 8th as their diligence came into view of the great quays that connected the Venetian lagoon to the mainland.

“Such a craft would have to be made of paper, for metal would be too heavy,” LeClerc said. “Unless Citizen Combeferre can invent something of that sort?” he asked Enjolras.

“Engineering materials is not his expertise, but perhaps the Ecole Polytechnique would provide some answers,” Enjolras replied. He looked out the carriage window to where various watercraft were being loaded up with cargo and passengers bound for the city center. “Perhaps some day there will be a bridge spanning this expanse,” he mused aloud.

“Some oppose that measure for its difficulty, and others because it would put these boats out of business,” LeClerc pointed out.

“It does not have to be one or the other; a bridge and a water transport system can coexist well enough. It has been done in other cities.”

“If only it was that easy to explain.”

Jacques sprang to his feet as the carriage came to a stop. “Finally! I thought I’d lose all feeling in my legs there!” he exclaimed before practically vaulting out of the carriage as soon as the door was opened.

LeClerc chuckled bemusedly at this. “Is he always this way?” he asked Enjolras.

“He has always been the most ebullient of his siblings,” Enjolras replied as they began unloading their baggage. In a few minutes, LeClerc had engaged the services of a gondolier and soon they were crossing the channel to the southeast side of the island. Here, there was no shortage of gondolas either ferrying passengers to the tip of the city, or more leisurely cruising by the famed St. Mark’s Square.

“That palace was once the residence of the Doge, I guess you could say the Duke, of Venice,” LeClerc said as they passed a large building by St. Mark’s Square. “There hasn’t been a true Doge of Venice since the fall of the Republic of Venice in 1797.”

“What I understand is that part of the reason that the Venetian republic was no longer able to regain its independence after the collapse of Buonaparte’s empire because of its already being weakened in terms of naval strength,” Enjolras said. “But certainly, there were democrats who opposed the fate of Venice?”

“Yes, but what is a city’s faction of democrats against the might of Austria and the devilry of the French Bourbons? So much for a place once known as La Dominante” LeClerc pointed out. “Though you are best not mentioning that around our envoy Citizen Brisbois.”

‘ _Perhaps he has been embroiled too in the question of the restoration of Venice as an independent city-state,”_ Enjolras thought as their gondola made a turn up one of the canals. In a few minutes the boat came to stop outside a residence with a spacious porch overlooking the water. “What is this place?” he asked.

“Citizen Brisbois’ residence,” LeClerc replied as he paid off the gondolier. He nodded to a man who was hurrying out onto the porch. “Good day there, Citizen Brisbois!”

“And to you three as well,” Citizen Aramis Brisbois greeted as he swept off his large hat and made a sweeping bow to his guests. “Welcome to Venice, and the Kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia. I would have been here a little earlier, but I had to quickly meet another one of our countrymen who has recently arrived too in this city,” he added as he ushered his guests into the house before LeClerc could make any introductions.

‘ _This flamboyance must get him far here in Venice,’_ Enjolras thought, noting the bright amber of Brisbois’ coat and waistcoat; the only subdued point of his attire was his dark blue cravat. In fact, he was not sure how he could stand to look at the envoy if the latter stood under the sun. “A pleasure to meet you, Citizen Brisbois,” he said, shaking the ambassador’s hand when Lamarre finally succeeded in making the introductions.

“Your arrival could not have been timelier, Citizens,” Brisbois said. “With all this agitation about the current standing of Venice among the Italian states, there is much appeasing that needs to be done.”

“Appeasing in what sense?” Enjolras asked as they were shown to a living room that offered a view of a flower garden that opened out onto the street.

“As you know, Venice was a republic once and there are some who would wish to see it become that once more. Then of course there are those who wish for Venice to remain the capital of the province of Venetia under the Kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia,” Brisbois explained as he sat down. “Which is hardly more than an Austrian puppet.”

“Then what part do we have to play in this?”

“Preventing atrocities. Especially with the Papal States, this can come to a head any day.”

“What is the state of relations between Lombardy-Venetia and the Papal States?”

“On good days they are neighbors who tolerate each other for their commonalities. At best one would love to encroach on the other.”

Jacques scratched his head on hearing this. “Isn’t it too much for the Pope to handle part of Italy like a King, and still lead all the Roman Church?” he asked.

“A very good question, Citizen Thenardier,” Brisbois said. “His staunchest followers would argue however that for a long time now the office of the Pontiff has handled both, and that it is the union of earthly and heavenly government.”

‘ _The arrogance of religion as opposed to conscience and spirit,’_ Enjolras thought even as he caught sight of another person entering the living room. “ _Signor,_ I believe you have another guest,” he said to Brisbois in Italian.

LeClerc swallowed hard at this. “You might be better off speaking French for the most part, Citizen; your Italian is a little accented,” he told Enjolras in an undertone.

Brisbois stood up to greet a tall, young Italian gentleman who had made his appearance in the doorway. “Ah _Signor_ Riva! What perfect timing!” he greeted enthusiastically.

“I am afraid I surprised one of your countrymen outside, so I gave him some of the news I should have given to you earlier,” the man named Riva replied amiably. He was fair of face, with the bearing of one linked to the Venetian patrician families. “ _Signor_ Giovanni Riva at your service. You, _Signor_ LeClerc I remember you,” he said to the other diplomat. He looked intently at Enjolras and Jacques. “Did you two just arrive as well from France?”

“Not directly; we came from elsewhere first,” Enjolras said in Italian. “You can call me _Signor_ Enjolras, and this here is my brother-in-law _Signor_ Thenardier.”

Riva smiled more widely as he shook Enjolras’ hand, then Jacques’. “I am honored that a great French statesman such as you has taken the pains to begin to learn our language. It is greatly appreciated. All the more I should invite you to tomorrow’s occasion!”

“Is this the ball your family throws to mark the height of summer?” Brisbois asked.

Riva nodded quickly. “I came here to personally invite you, and now your guests as well.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I also invited the Frenchman I met coming in; I am certain you spoke with him too since he was just coming from here.”

“Yes, he was paying a courtesy call, being a visiting diplomat himself,” Brisbois said. “Rather unlooked for, but welcome nevertheless.”

“He said he was lodged with some friends at the inn of _Signor_ de Caro,” Riva added. “One of them he mentioned as being a most exceptional lady.”

‘ _Probably the wife of a diplomat,’_ Enjolras thought. “I hope we are not imposing on the festivities with our presence on such short notice,” he said calmly to Riva.

“Citizen, the annual ball thrown by the Riva family is a place to see and be seen, now that the patricians no longer hold sway over everything,” LeClerc explained. “It would be an excellent opportunity to be acquainted with more personages of this city.”

“Yes, to be acquainted and perhaps more,” Riva said gleefully. “ _Signor_ Enjolras, I am sure that _Signor_ de Caro’s lodger would be of interest to you, as she was described as a lady of great intelligence and beauty. But if she not be to your taste, then I am sure you will be delighted by our lovely Venetian graces here!”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “As you can see, I am already wedded.”

“A brief smile, a single dance, an innocent flirtation will lend much enjoyment to a trip of serious matters,” Brisbois laughed. “Besides, who has to know?”

LeClerc cleared his throat. “His brother-in-law is right here, my friends.”

“And you too shall have your fill as well, _Signor_ Thenardier,” Riva said, producing with a flourish three invitations from his coat pocket. “Tomorrow night, the festivities open by seven-thirty, but to be honest the dancing will not start till much later. No need for masks; our fine presences will do enough.”

“As always. Can we interest you into staying for lunch?” Brisbois asked the Venetian.

“Unfortunately I have more preparations to make; you know how my mother is.”

“Alas! See you tomorrow then.”

Enjolras merely nodded to Riva as the latter left the room. He then looked at Brisbois, who appeared to be laughing to himself at some private joke. “Citizen, may I know if any mail was forwarded to any of us, be it from France or elsewhere?” he asked.

“Why, did you instruct anyone to forward any messages here?” Brisbois asked.

“Yes. My family is at least aware of my itinerary,” Enjolras replied.

Brisbois nodded before summoning a servant, who he exchanged a few words with in the Italian language. His brow was furrowed as he looked at Enjolras. “We will have to check the mail packet again, but it seems as if nothing has arrived for any of you. At least not yet.”

‘ _Some delay in the mail then,’_ Enjolras thought, remembering now the difficulty of the past weeks’ correspondence. He shook his head as he looked at the engraved invite in his hand, wondering what tale he would have to relate soon.


	43. Know You Anywhere

**Chapter 43: Know You Anywhere**

‘ _If I knew we’d have to go to a ball or a party of this sort, I might have brought along one of the silly gowns I had to wear in England,’_ Eponine berated herself the next evening as she did up the fastenings on the dress she was to wear to the ball at Giovanni Riva’s residence. The thought of stumbling about in a bouffant skirt with a train had her shaking her head, more so when she got a look at her reflection. ‘ _But at least I thought to bring along one thing that suits me best,’_ she thought as she smoothed down her dress, which was the color of deep emerald. Although the gown was not new, having been an acquisition some time after Etienne was born, the neckline was cut to show off part of her collarbones, and the sleeves stopped some inches above her elbow. The skirt, which gently flared from her hips, had a hem embroidered with shining silk in the forms of roses and trailing vines.

She bit her lip as she put on her silver necklace, then began pinning her long hair back from her face so that it fell gently in waves past her shoulderblades. As a last touch, she pulled on her lace gloves, taking care to tug them smartly over her hands. “I’m not there to impress anyone, just to watch and maybe enjoy some of it,” she told herself as she left her room in order to meet Combeferre and Lamarre in the living room of _Signor_ de Caro’s inn.

The younger of these men simply eyed her critically. “I do not know what the Venetian ladies would have to say to that,” he said.

“I think I remember this one,” Combeferre remarked more amiably. “You wore this during your trip to the Loire?”

“Ah, Claudine told you?” Eponine quipped, smiling at the memory these words evoked. ‘ _It’s not every day one gets a whole group of Parisian ladies meeting those from Loire to exchange books,’_ she thought.

“She told me because you made quite an impression,” Combeferre replied.

“Which I am sure I will not do tonight.”

Lamarre glanced at his watch. “We’d better go there now, so we can get in the ball before _Signor_ Riva and our ambassador Citizen Brisbois become too occupied with the crowd,” he said. “He’s a very gamesome character to put it mildly.”

‘ _Which can mean anything to be as playful as Jacques or as quick with words as Courfeyrac,’_ Eponine thought as they left the inn. Much to her surprise, their destination was only down the next street and around a corner, accessible by a bridge that was decked with tiny candles and dangling lanterns for the occasion.

Not surprisingly, the road leading to the garden and the front terrace of Riva’s residence was full of people, but what took Eponine’s breath away was the vibrancy of the other guests’ attire. “If jewels could be turned into cloth, these are the sorts of dresses and coats that would come out from them,” she whispered as she and her companions approached the house.

“This after all is Venice,” Lamarre said. He nodded to a dapper young gentleman standing in the garden to greet the guests. “Good evening _Signor_ Riva. I’d like to introduce my companions from France---” he began.

“And you never told me that your lady companion was this ravishing, _Signor_ Lamarre,” the man named Riva said, smartly shaking Combeferre’s hand, and then Eponine’s. He made a bow to Eponine, taking off his hat which had a long blue feather in it. “ _Signora,_ there is a perfectly charming gentleman I wish for you to meet this evening,” he said to Eponine.

“A friend of yours, _Signor_?” Eponine asked.

“An acquaintance, but he could be more than that to you; he is Parisian after all,” Riva said.

“ _Signor_ , there is a wedding ring on this finger----” Eponine protested, but Riva had already gone to meet other guests. “The cheek of him!” she whispered to Combeferre.

“A jovial but misguided effort,” Combeferre said, shaking his head. “And what about Citizen Brisbois?” he asked Lamarre.

“Hopefully he should be here by now,” Lamarre said, urging them forward.

The crowd was so dense near the main entry to the house such that it was not long before the trio were separated in the crush. As soon as Eponine realized this, she began looking around frantically, but all she could see were people pushing their way up the staircases leading to the ballroom’s entrance on the second floor. ‘ _Perhaps I will get a better view from upstairs,’_ she decided as she made her way up one of the staircases. Much to her disappointment however, even this vantage point did not help her in the slightest with locating her companions.

“ _Signora,_ will you enter the ballroom?” a footman asked from his post near the ballroom’s double doors.

Eponine paused to let three couples pass ahead of her; the gentlemen were all dressed in brightly colored though smartly cut suits, while the women all had elaborate gowns and hairstyles of delicate curls crowned with flowers or jewels. ‘ _While I am merely as I am,’_ she thought before nodding to the footman. “I s’pose I will.”

The footman motioned for her to stand before the doors before he knocked with his staff as a signal for the doors to open to admit her. Eponine stepped forward and found herself standing atop a grand stairway overlooking a roomful of brilliantly attired guests. The chandeliers threw a golden glow over everything, making each man and woman look more resplendent than they would have under daylight. ‘ _And they are all looking up here,’_ she realized, feeling her heart pound in her chest as she took a step forward, then another to the stairs leading to the ballroom floor.

As she descended these steps she saw an unmistakable flash of gold in this sea of people. “Can it be?” she whispered, pausing to catch her footing on a wide landing. She blinked once and gasped as she took in the sight of impossibly wavy golden hair, a well-sculpted jaw she had run her fingers over so many times before, and that unmistakable tall frame in a red tailcoat. At that instant Enjolras now turned to look in her direction. For a moment his eyes went wide with astonishment, but when his deep blue gaze finally met her own, it was enough for Eponine to stop in her tracks for a brief second just to let him drink in the very sight of her.

Eponine quickly made her way down the last few steps just as Enjolras now walked forward to close the distance between them. “I believe you weren’t expecting me,” she greeted.

Enjolras took her hand and pressed her gloved palm to his lips, making her breath catch especially when he held her gaze. “I had thought we would meet again in Paris.” 

“I s’pose this is a pleasant surprise, Antoine,” Eponine said with a smile as she clasped his hand, slipping her fingers between his.

Riva gaped from where he stood a few feet away. “You both know each other?”

“That would be the biggest understatement, _Signor_ Riva,” Enjolras said dryly, not letting go of Eponine’s hand even as he moved to stand at her side.

“I should surely know who he is since they do call me Citizenness Enjolras back at home,” Eponine quipped. 

Riva went scarlet up to his ears even as the bystanders to this scene, including Combeferre, Lamarre and Jacques, now burst out laughing. “That, I was not aware of.”

“I did not have a chance to properly introduce myself, _Signor_ ,” Eponine chided.

“I apologize _Signora_ Enjolras,” Riva said, making a deep bow. “If there is any assistance I can give to you, let me know.”

“We certainly will,” Eponine replied, giving Enjolras a sidelong glance even as she now felt his hand come to rest lightly on the small of her back. “Now, I s’pose I really should explain why I am not in England, as you have supposed I would be?”

“It is clearly something urgent, if even Combeferre and Citizen Lamarre are here,” Enjolras said, nodding to Eponine’s companions. He clasped Combeferre’s shoulder briefly with his free hand. “Is Claudine also with you?”

“We agreed she would have to stay behind in Paris,” Combeferre replied, also clasping his friend’s shoulder. “Travel does suit you somewhat though, my friend.”

‘ _When he is getting proper sleep I hope,’_ Eponine could not help but think even as she saw some slight darkness under Enjolras’ eyes, as was always the case when he was short on rest. She smiled at Jacques, who was waving at her. “Of course, I didn’t forget you, _petit_. How tall you’ve grown! How have you enjoyed this trip so far?”

“Very well, I’ve learned a lot,” Jacques said, turning slightly pink at this query.

Eponine bit her lip when she saw Enjolras raise an eyebrow at this. ‘ _Clearly that is something to be discussed later,’_ she thought as she saw Lamarre nod to another gentleman dressed in bright purple. “Is that the ambassador to Italy?”

“The envoy to the Kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia,” Enjolras explained discreetly in her ear. “Citizen Brisbois, I’d like you to meet my wife, Citizenness Eponine Enjolras,” he said more proudly to the ambassador. “Eponine, I’d like to introduce Citizen Aramis Brisbois.”

‘ _I should never say he looks like a peacock,’_ Eponine thought as she shook Brisbois’ hand. “You’re lucky to be stationed in such a beautiful city, Citizen,” she said.

“Ennui is one thing that is never found here in Venice,” Brisbois replied with a grin. “ _Signor_ Riva can certainly attest to that.”

Riva laughed. “Well are you going to stand here and talk all night? I insist on seeing each and everyone of you on the dance floor this evening!” he exclaimed before clapping his hands to a master of ceremonies standing near some musicians, who then began to play the first bars of a lively mazurka. The young Venetian held out his hand to a slender, tall brunette with jewels in her hair, who smiled as Riva made a courtly bow to her before taking her hand to lead her in the first dance of the night. All eyes were on the couple as they made their way around the room through the skips and turns of the dance, till they ended by facing each other as the music ended with a flourish.

Eponine clapped politely at this. “In England the first dance of the night was a quadrille, not a mazurka,” she said to Enjolras. “I think I like this beginning just as much.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras said as he touched her wrist, prompting her to look at him. “Would you like to have the next dance together?”

‘ _Did I hear him right?’_ Eponine wondered, but the familiar earnestness in his eyes was unmistakable. She clasped his hand once again. “Of course.”

As they walked together to find a place on the dance floor, Eponine caught sight of Combeferre talking with Brisbois and Riva, while Jacques and Lamarre had found partners of their own. “Since when did my brother learn to do that?” Eponine asked teasingly as Enjolras placed his other hand on her waist.

“Experience, both good and ill,” Enjolras said wryly. “What about Neville?”

“You’d be proud of him,” Eponine replied. “But I had to send him to stay in Aix, with the children, till we both return from here.” She smiled as she felt his fingers curling just above her hip even as the musicians began playing a slow, elegant waltz. He held her hand more tightly as he led her through the figures of the dance, letting go of her just long enough to prompt her into a spin. She felt her breath catch when she spun back into his arms and met his eyes once more; the very way he was looking at her was enough to send a familiar warmth coursing through her chest and spreading out to suffuse her very limbs. 

Enjolras’ cheeks were slightly flushed as the music ended amid the applause of other onlookers. He touched his forehead to hers as he ran his fingers over the back of her neck. “Thank you for the dance,” he said in her ear.

“Is that all you are really going to say, after all this time away?” she asked, bringing up one of her hands to trace the line of his jaw. She grinned when she saw him redden further under her touch. “I s’pose there’s more you want to tell me, but not in this ballroom.”

Enjolras smirked at her. “Are you seriously suggesting that?”

“Well now that we’ve made an appearance, are we going to be missed?” Eponine asked. She glanced to where Combeferre was now asking an older woman to dance, while Lamarre and Jacques escorted their partners back to their seats. “I s’pose they should manage well enough without us, at least for one evening.”

“That can be hoped for,” Enjolras said even as they began to make their way to the edges of the crowd.

Eponine glanced back to where her brother was talking with Riva and Lamarre. ‘ _It’s just one night, what harm can it do?’_ she thought as she linked her arm with his while they went up the stairs leading away from the ballroom.


	44. By The Glow of Candles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this chapter is a reason for a change in rating. This chapter is one long love scene.

**Chapter 44: By The Glow of Candles**

The moment that they were out the door of Riva’s house and standing in the street, both Enjolras and Eponine could not help but burst out laughing. “Now, where do we go?” Eponine asked once she regained her composure. “Where are you staying?”

“We have rooms at Citizen Brisbois’ house, near St. Mark’s Square,” Enjolras replied, resting one of his hands on her waist. “And you?”

“Oh, just a short walk from here; it’s actually a lovely old house that a certain _Signor_ de Caro turned into an inn,” Eponine said with a grin as she draped her arms over his shoulders and began to run her hands through his hair. “Unless you have a nicer room?”

Enjolras smiled as he lifted his free hand to brush a stray strand of hair away from Eponine’s face. “I believe that settles it then.” It was all he could do to keep from pulling her fully into his arms just to kiss her, so he opted to simply intertwine his long fingers with hers as she led him over the bridge spanning the canal in front of Riva’s residence, and away from the glow of the festivities there. “When did you arrive in Venice?” he asked, seeing how Eponine had little trouble navigating the streets.

“Yesterday, some time in the morning,” Eponine said. “I s’pose you and Jacques haven’t been here very long either.”

“We also arrived in the morning,” Enjolras pointed out. “I take that you came to Italy through the land route, via Turin?”

“Yes, passing on through to Verona and Padua, before reaching Venice.” Eponine’s nose wrinkled as she mulled over this for a moment. “How is it then that we did not meet even once on the road, or even at least on the dock at the mainland?”

“Verona and Padua are not very small towns, and as for the dock perhaps we missed each other by a few minutes to an hour.”

“Ah I see why that is so, but at the very least we both arrived in time for the same party!”

“A party wherein Citizen Riva was intent on setting me up with you,” Enjolras said ruefully as they walked round a street corner. “I told him clearly that I already have a spouse, but he was intent on his design.”

“Then we shouldn’t have been so familiar at that ball, so we could have had some fun with that,” Eponine quipped. She stopped before a three-storey house with two small terraces on each of its upper floors. “Here we are. It’s much bigger inside than it looks on the outside.”

‘ _An architectural wonder,’_ Enjolras thought as the porter let them in the inn. The house was dark, with only a few candles to light the stairwell. Enjolras silently followed Eponine upstairs to the second floor and stood back to let her unlock the door to her quarters. “Who else is staying at this inn besides you, Combeferre and Citizen Lamarre?” he asked as she pushed the door open.

“I haven’t met most of the others here yet,” Eponine said. “But don’t you worry, our friends have the room furthest away from this!”

“The things you say sometimes, Eponine!” Enjolras muttered as he followed her into her room. He swallowed hard on being greeted by the unfamiliar dark of this place, only to finally breathe more easily when Eponine lit a single candle and held it up. “This is a nice room,” he noted, taking stock of the fine furnishings in this place.

She smiled as she set the candle down on a table and took off her gloves, setting them aside on a chair. “I haven’t shown you the best part,” she whispered before crossing the room to open a door leading out to a terrace overlooking a shimmering waterway. She sighed as she stepped out onto the terrace. “Too bad there is no moon in the sky tonight.”

“It was at its brightest two weeks ago,” he said as he joined her. He took her bare hands and ran his fingers over the calluses there, feeling them to be rougher than from when they’d last been together. He smiled when he heard her breath catch as he touched her scarred left palm. “You haven’t said yet why you are here in Venice instead of in England.”

Eponine bit her lip with a worried look on her face. “We learned something horrible in England; there is someone who’s gotten into the diplomatic corps packets to steal messages. The same thing happened to Feuilly too. Somehow it’s all connected here in Italy, and that’s what I’m here to find out and tell you in person since I learned that we can’t trust the post. Citizenness Calamy and her husband are also in Venice too, trying to investigate this problem, and we’re working together I s’pose.”

‘ _Something is afoot then if even a British agent is interested,’_ Enjolras thought as he clasped Eponine’s hands more tightly. “Is that all?”

“I missed you, Antoine.” She smiled as she looked into his eyes. “I know we’ve been writing, but I didn’t want to wait till the end of the summer to see you.”

“Nor did I,” he admitted before bringing both of his hands to her face so he could close the distance between them with a kiss. She immediately pulled him closer and parted her lips under his, even as her hands now went up to bury themselves in his hair. The unique taste of her mouth was as heady as the lingering scent of her myrtle perfume mingled with the smell of sunlight, giving him even more impetus to continue kissing her until the need for air became too great. He stepped back just enough to give her some air, but planted a kiss on her forehead, and over her closed eyes. “Eponine, look at me,” he whispered in a low voice.

Eponine opened her eyes even as she caught her breath. “It’s been too long,” she murmured as she lifted his hands to her flushed cheeks. Her fingers deftly ran over the collar of his coat and down to the buttons. “I love how you picked this one for tonight.”

For a moment Enjolras tensed at her touch, but took a deep breath to calm himself even as he guided her fingers to the topmost button while his own hands went to her waist. “Was picking this dress intentional?” he asked her.

“It’s one of my favorites,” she said as she began unbuttoning his coat. “Did you want to see me in something different?”

“I wanted to simply see you,” he admitted as he ran his hands over the smooth silk of her dress till he found its clasps at the back and began to undo them. “Though yes, I think it is good that you favor this color.”

Eponine grinned deviously as she finished unbuttoning his coat and began to push it off his shoulders. “Because that was how you saw me right away at the ball?” she asked before planting a light, teasing kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Partly that,” Enjolras said before turning to kiss her deeply once more as he got rid of his coat. He felt her moan into his mouth as his tongue glided over hers, even as he continued to undo her dress until he could pull it down past her shoulders. He maneuvered her towards the wall to brace her against it as he moved to plant a line of kisses from the tip of her left ear, down to her jaw, and on to her neck and her shoulders. He heard her hiss and whimper his name as he gave her a hard kiss under her right collarbones, just enough to leave a mark. “Yes, Eponine?”

“Inside, please,” she whispered raggedly, yanking on his hair for emphasis.

Enjolras kissed her lips lightly before scooping her up in his arms to bring her back to the room, where he set her down on the bed. He looked up from taking off his shoes in time to see her get to her feet and light another candle at the bedside, which held several other tapers of this sort. “The first one hasn’t burned low yet,” he pointed out in a level tone as he went to help her remove her dress. He kissed the back of her neck and felt her shiver as he eased the gown off her shoulders and let it fall to her feet into a puddle. The very feel of the smooth skin of her shoulders was enough to have him feeling a familiar tightness in his pantaloons. “Do you need the light?”

“You want to see me,” Eponine said, turning to face him even as she removed her necklace and placed it on the bedside table. She pulled him by the lapels of his waistcoat till they were both on the bed and he was lying on top of her. “Am I still right about that, Antoine?” she asked, touching his cheek.

“Why do you ask?”

“You’ve been around so many beautiful women during your trip, especially those interesting ladies from Madrid.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes at the memories of the various receptions and gatherings he had attended in that city, even as he propped himself up on his elbows to keep from sinking into the featherbed. He felt his mouth go dry as he took in the sight of her lying beneath him, wearing only a chemise that gave him a good glimpse of the tops of her breasts. “I cannot draw any comparisons there,” he finally said as he brushed a stray strand of her hair away from her face. “You have always defied any description.”

Eponine nodded before reaching up to answer this with a kiss, which she deepened as she began to remove his waistcoat. The feel of her hands on his chest, trailing dangerously lower towards his stomach made Enjolras feel as if his skin was tingling, thus prompting him to quickly bite his lip as he tried to help her remove the now constricting garment. “Antoine, is something wrong?” she asked as she placed her hands on his chest once she had discarded his waistcoat.

‘ _She’s not going to harm you; she never would,’_ Enjolras told himself as he held her hands, feeling his own heart racing under their clasped palms. “It’s fine, Eponine.” He sighed when he saw her frown, so he resorted to kissing the tip of her nose. “It’s only been a while.”

“It felt like forever,” Eponine murmured as she began to untuck his shirt from his pantaloons. In a few moments she pulled the garment over his head and arms, and then tossed it to the floor next to her dress. She smiled appreciatively as she ran her hands over his bare chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles under her fingers before she planted a kiss on his solar plexus. “And I s’pose it was the same way for you too,” she added, trailing her fingers over his groin.

Enjolras looked at her keenly, if only to calm himself down the slight panic that shot through him from her very touch. Before Eponine could say anything more, he quickly grabbed her hand and brought it to the now uncomfortably tight bulge in his pantaloons. “Please,” he whispered.

Eponine grinned before unbuttoning her lover’s pantaloons and slowly pulling them down his legs. “Did you miss me that much?”

Enjolras nodded, in reply to her question as well as unspoken relief as the pressure was eased on his erection. He only had time to kick his pantaloons aside before he felt Eponine’s sure grip on his member, with her palm rubbing the shaft gently while her fingers swirled around the tip. He bit back a groan as he felt her right hand moving up and down his length while her other hand now caressed his testicles, all the while as she watched him with a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. “Damn it all…” he muttered, feeling a jolt of pleasure as her touch grew firmer.

She giggled before planting a kiss on his neck. “You missed this too,” she whispered before pulling him down to lie next to her. She lost no time in rolling her body atop of his, such that he could feel her warm heat against his own sex. “Are you well?” she asked after a moment.

It was only then that Enjolras realized that he’d been grabbing one of the pillows so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. He nodded before letting go of the pillow so he could bring her face closer to his and catch her again in a kiss. This time he let her take control, relishing the feeling of her tongue teasing his mouth before suddenly running over his jaw and up to his ear. He groaned as she began to kiss her way down his neck, only to linger over his chest where she could feel his heartbeat. His hands found her hips as she moved lower over his stomach, a moment before she nipped him at his hip. “Eponine!” he yelped with surprise.

Eponine laughed before soothing the mark with her tongue. “It’s only fair,” she quipped, pointing to the mark he had left on her collarbone.

Before he could form a reply, he felt the heat of her breath between his legs, and a moment later her tongue swirling around the tip of his member. He yelled out, now abandoning all attempts at keeping quiet as he involuntarily thrust up further between her lips, making her gasp and grab him more tightly. Everything was quickly growing into a blur, save for the warmth of her mouth alternating between soft, teasing kisses and long slow licks along his shaft. Enjolras shakily propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Eponine and was rewarded with her dark gaze locking with his as she took in more of his length. He buried a hand in her hair, wincing slightly as his fingers came up against some hairpins, but the sting faded almost immediately as he now felt Eponine move to take him in almost to the hilt. At that moment his vision went white and his hips bucked as he shouted her name before he spilled his release into her mouth.

When the haze had cleared from his vision, he saw Eponine now face to face with him, even as she was licking his seed from her lips. “That was…” he began as he tried to catch his breath, feeling a much-needed lassitude now in his limbs.

“You needed it,” she answered, pulling his sweaty hair away from his brow. A deep blush now suffused her cheeks and neck, all the way down to her breasts. “And will you return the favor?”

Enjolras smirked before bringing his lips to her ear. “Gladly.” He felt her gasp against him, only to hum with pleasure as he began removing the pins that held her auburn hair away from her face. He paused only to put the hairpins on the bedside table before he ran his fingers through her now free tresses, enjoying their softness in his hands. Only then did he plant a kiss on her brow, then moved his lips to her eyelids, kissing each almost reverently. He felt her lips tremble as he kissed her mouth, prompting him to hold her closer such that he could feel her heartbeat growing faster against his own chest. “I love you, Eponine,” he said in her ear.

She answered him with a long, slow kiss that she broke only to smile against his lips and remove her chemise so that she was completely bare before him. “I was just waiting for the day to actually _hear_ that again,” she murmured.

“I know.” He then turned his attention to her neck, making sure his mouth lingered whenever she moaned or pressed herself closer to him. He brought his right hand to her left breast, first cupping it in his palm before teasing the nipple between his fingers. Eponine threw her head back, crying out desperately even as one of her hands now buried itself again in his hair. Enjolras smiled knowingly as he felt her fingers tugging a little sharply, so he made sure to kiss her again for a brief moment before he lowered his mouth to her breast. He trailed kisses over the soft flesh there before flicking and swirling his tongue around the nipple, redoubling his efforts as she cursed and tightened her grip on his curls. After a while he used his free hand to also tease her right breast till he heard her whimper his name pleadingly. “Tell me what you want, Eponine,” he asked, lifting his head to look at her flushed, sweaty face.

Eponine gripped his shoulders urgently. “You know. Don’t stop.” To drive the point home, she grabbed his hands and placed them on her sides to caress her ribs. “Please.”

Enjolras nodded before placing a kiss between her breasts, before moving to kiss a faded scar on her side. His hand found the softness of her belly, where he reverently traced some lines that had not quite faded there even after the births of their children. The fact that he was the only person to have ever seen this change up close only heightened his desire, more so when she sighed appreciatively and brought her hands up to wind his hair around her fingers again.

As he gripped her thighs, he could not help but breathe in deeply, if only to take in the sweet scent of her arousal. Eponine moaned more loudly and spread her legs even as she moved upwards so that she was half propped up by the bed’s luxurious pillows. At this new angle, it was all too easy for Enjolras to raise her legs over his shoulders such that her feet were resting on his back, before he lowered his mouth to taste her core. Eponine cried out his name and thrust her hips into his face, encouraging him to lick her folds and then that nub which he knew would give her the utmost pleasure. As he kissed and licked her center, he could feel her growing wetter and wetter while her moans and pleading grew louder and louder. He felt her thighs beginning to clench around his head, so to heighten her pleasure further he slipped a finger into her, pressing its tip against her walls and gradually increasing the pressure there until she cried out loudly.

“Don’t stop, please!” Eponine begged, bucking her hips into his hand. “I need---”

In response, Enjolras brought his free arm around to grip her rear and hold her in place even as he thrust a second finger in her, all the while redoubling his licking and sucking at her core. At this Eponine yelled and grabbed his hair hard, prompting him to let go of her hips and hold her hand to steady her as she began to clench hard around his fingers. He gave her slit a longer lick as she screamed his name over and over again, throwing her head back as her climax coursed through her. He continued to kiss and caress her till she fell back against the pillows, her thighs shaking uncontrollably as she gasped for air. The very sight of Eponine so flushed and breathless from her peak was enough to stir Enjolras’ arousal again, and it was all he could do not to bury himself in her there and then to bring her to another release. Instead he planted soothing kisses on her hips, moving slowly up her body till he finally reached her mouth. “Eponine? Look at me,” he whispered in her ear as he began to rub her wrists.

Eponine opened her eyes slowly and looked dazedly at him for a moment before laughing with mingled ecstasy and disbelief. “How am I still alive?”

“I would ask myself the same thing, after what you did earlier,” Enjolras pointed out before kissing her knuckles. Seeing that the candle on the bedside was on the verge of flickering out with a sudden breeze, he grabbed another candle and lit it. In the light he now had a better view of her hair fanned out over the pillows, her rosy cheeks and her dark eyes so bright with that passion he knew only he could elicit. As he touched her breasts again, he could feel her quiver with the lingering effects of her orgasm, so he took the time to simply kiss her face till he felt her breathing grow more regular and less ragged. “Did you dream of that too?” he asked her as he felt her hands begin to run up and down his back, pulling him atop her again. Her still wet core brushed against his now erect member, making him groan softly as he adjusted their positions such that they were face to face.

She ran one of her hands over his chest again. “I dreamt of all the times we traveled together, and all our times at home. But it wasn’t ever enough…” she trailed off before reaching up to kiss him, gently at first then with increasing vigor even as she guided his hands to her hips again. “You understand.”

Enjolras nodded before clasping her hands as he slowly sank into her. She cried out his name against his mouth, holding his wrists tightly as she shut her eyes. As familiar as the sensation of their joining was, it was still so intoxicating that for a moment all he could do was rest his forehead against hers as he waited for her to adjust to the feel of him again. Suddenly he felt her lift her legs such that her feet were now resting on his back; this new angle allowed him to push even deeper into her, tearing a moan from his throat. He then began to thrust into her, watching as she arched her back in an attempt to get some more friction between their bodies. Encouraged by this, he pushed himself harder against her hips, driving her body into the softness of the mattress as she tried to meet him thrust for thrust. “Antoine, please…” Eponine pleaded, digging her fingernails into his back as she held on to him for dear life.

Enjolras groaned before kissing her, already feeling his own climax building fast. Judging by how Eponine was moaning and begging as she tightened her grip on him, she was also close as well. As his own thrusts began to grow erratic, he pressed his lips to her neck and her ears just to prolong and heighten her pleasure, and was rewarded with an even higher pitched cry as she threw her head back against the pillows. At last he felt her body clench hard around him as he thrust deeply into her, bringing him over the edge with a long moan that mingled with Eponine’s screaming his name louder than before. He collapsed onto her even as she buried her face into his shoulder, both of them still trembling from their shared release.

At last he raised himself on his elbows again and moved to lie at her side while her grip on him relaxed. “How are you feeling?” he asked, putting an arm around her waist.

Eponine smiled softly before kissing him. “Wonderful.” She twisted a lock of his hair around her fingers, admiring how the dark gold strands stood out beside the ring he had given her nine years ago. “I can’t believe we’re here.”

“Here in Venice, or here like this?” Enjolras asked.

“Both, I s’pose,” she replied. She rested her head on his chest as she looked at him keenly. “I’m not leaving Italy till you’re leaving.”

“I figured that would be the case,” he said before kissing her once again, knowing better than to ask for any explanation in words.


	45. What Morning Brings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for some references/insinuation of adultery. As well as punching someone out

**Chapter 45: What Morning Brings**

It had been a long time since Eponine had felt pleasantly warm while sleeping, such that she almost thought that she was once again dreaming. ‘ _But I cannot dream up something this lovely,’_ she thought as she snuggled closer into the familiar weight against her back, if only to relish the rhythm of Enjolras’ breathing as he dozed next to her, with one arm around her waist to hold her flush against his chest. Even with her eyes closed she knew how to find his hand and clasp it, only to feel his fingers curl around hers reassuringly.

After a few moments she heard him murmur something against the back of her neck, thus prompting her to open her eyes and turn to face him properly. The sight of him still so sound asleep, with his tousled hair falling into his face, had her feeling much lighter than she’d remembered doing so in a while. “Good morning Antoine,” she whispered as she adjusted the blankets to cover them both more comfortably.

Enjolras murmured again and reached for her before slowly opening his eyes. “Is it really you?” he asked in a cracked, sleepy voice.

“Of course. Who else did you think it would be?” Eponine quipped before kissing him. She sighed contentedly as he returned her kiss and began running his fingers over the back of her neck. “Were you dreaming of me again?” she asked, pulling away slightly for some air.

“This is far better,” he replied, smiling broadly as his hand moved down to trace her curves under the blankets. “Did you sleep well?”

“You made sure of that.” She hooked one of her legs around his, smirking when she saw his eyes darken with a look she knew all too well from their intimate moments. “I s’pose you haven’t slept so nicely either since leaving Paris.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras idly ran his fingers up her spine, making her breath catch as she leaned into his touch. “Waking up this way is much better.”

“I know. But this isn’t your room, it’s mine for now.” She mirrored his dissatisfied frown. “We need to do something about that.”

“I should ask Citizen Brisbois if you can move your belongings to my accommodations at his house. I don’t know however if he has enough room for Combeferre and Citizen Lamarre,” Enjolras said thoughtfully as he began to play with the ends of her long hair.

“I s’pose we can ask politely,” she pointed out. “What time is it already?”

He reached over to the bedside table, only to curse on not finding his watch there. “I left it in my waistcoat,” he said before reluctantly getting out of bed to retrieve the item.

Eponine sighed happily as she lay back in bed just to watch how the morning light streaming through the still-open terrace door played over her husband’s toned body. The sight of the firm muscles of his torso and his arms was enough to send heat pooling in her stomach, more so when he gave her a bemused glance over his shoulder after he found his watch. “I’m just enjoying the view,” she quipped, now sitting up.

“I believe I have one that is much better,” Enjolras said before going over to give her a slow kiss that had her toes curling. “Just so you know, it’s already eight in the morning.”

“We’re early as always,” Eponine quipped as she got out of bed. “Do you s’pose people here get up early after balls? I know they don’t do so, in London.”

“For some people they do not have a choice,” Enjolras pointed out, picking up her chemise which was lying on the floor, and handing it back to her. “Unless you are suggesting that Venetians are decadent?”

Suddenly, a knock sounded on the door. “Who is it?” Eponine asked.

“ _Signora_ Enjolras, there is a lady downstairs to see you,” Pietro de Caro replied in a stage whisper. “She says it is very important.”

Eponine sighed deeply. “It might be Citizenness Calamy. We were supposed to meet this afternoon at the Clock Tower, at the Piazza San Marco.” She quickly pulled on her chemise and a clean blue dress. “I’ll see what it is about first, especially since she didn’t bring her husband along,” she said to Enjolras before she left the room and followed de Caro downstairs.

Seated in the living room of the inn was a short Frenchwoman, who seemed young till a closer inspection revealed her age to be just a few years over thirty, but well hidden by rouge and powder. She had on an elegant purple gown in fine silk, and her black hair was curled in accordance to the latest fashion. This newcomer smiled but did not get to her feet. “Good morning, Citizenness Enjolras. I hope I have not arrived too early this morning,” she greeted.

Eponine paused on hearing this woman’s rather accented words. “Good morning to you as well, Citizenness---”

“Berlioz. Or as Antoine and his family in Aix would call me, Celeste,” the woman said.

‘ _The accent gives her away as being Provencal,’_ Eponine observed silently as she took a seat, feeling suddenly shabby with her old dress and hastily tied back hair. “I don’t think we’ve ever met before, during the time I was in Aix. Nor has my husband or his kin ever mentioned you, or written about you,” she replied carefully.

“Oh how is that so?” Celeste Berlioz asked, her eyes going wide with disbelief. “My family has been close to the Enjolras clan for years.”

Eponine bit her lip, knowing this sort of wheedling all too well from the times she had to deal with her in-laws’ more judgmental acquaintances. She sat up straight and looked at Celeste. “What are you doing here in Venice?”

“I need to talk with you, Citizenness, about a very disturbing matter,” Celeste said, now looking down with an expression that was meant to be contrite. “I don’t want to be that woman fighting with you over a man not worthy of you.”

“And who is that?”

“Your husband has been carrying on with me while you have been away. I’m sorry.”

Eponine’s jaw dropped at these absurd words. “Carrying on with you? He’s been in Spain for all this summer before coming here to Venice!”

“And I was in Spain too. He told me he was heading there, when he stopped over in Aix to bring your children to Uncle Louis and Aunt Monique.” Celeste put her hands in her lap. “He told me his itinerary, where he’d be staying, everything.”

“He told me the same, as well as my family and our friends,” Eponine countered. “I don’t think that is supposed to mean anything particularly special, at least for you.”

Celeste burst out laughing. “Oh my dear, he told me that and asked me to visit him in Spain. Of course he wouldn’t mention it to you.”

“And you actually did see him there?” Eponine asked with disbelief.

“Of course I did. I caught up with him in Zaragoza; luckily I was not too far behind.” Celeste brought a paper she had in her bosom. “This is only one of the letters he sent me.”

Eponine frowned as she took the scrap from Celeste’s hand and read these words:

“ _The post is indeed out of order; we were about to leave Barcelona when I received a whole passel of your missives written before the 19th of last month. I am pleased that you directly forwarded to Zaragoza your letter dated on the 20th of April. I hope that this reply will hearten you, especially after what you had to relate._

_This city is best described in the image from a camera obscura or even in a sketch; had I your skill for the latter, I would try to do this some justice. As it stands, this description in words will have to suffice; it is a city of multiple influences from all over the continent. The spires are remnants of the mosques and other architectural wonders of the former Muslim State, but everything closer to the ground is Aragonese mingled with the solid Roman tradition and the graceful Gothic. The river Ebro is not quite like the Seine but is picturesque owing to its riverside denizens._

_Yet this description would fall short of your observations, were you here at present. Your singularity is perhaps what makes all recollections of our past journeys more vivid_.”

“And is this all there is to the letter?” Eponine asked as she set the note down. “If you know him as well as I do, you’d know that he doesn’t leave letters unfinished like this!”

“Are you denying it is his handwriting?” Celeste retorted.

‘ _No one else I know crosses his ‘t’,s that way and writes without flourishes,’_ Eponine thought as she examined the note again, her hands shaking all the while. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice level.

“I thought it would be the proper thing to do as a lady of character,” Celeste said with a sneer. “Unless you do condone such amoral behavior.”

“He wouldn’t do such a thing. I know that.” Eponine slammed the note on the table. “How dare you say such things?”

“Clearly you don’t know men, or at least you don’t know him,” Celeste taunted. “Isn’t the proof right here with us?”

Eponine shook her head. “When have you ever travelled with him?”

“We had our travels before he ever met you. I’ve known him since childhood.”

“How do I know that this is not a joke, or a note merely stolen from his desk? Why should I even believe you?”

Celeste paled fleetingly, but her eyes were imperious again when she looked at Eponine. “That does not change the fact that I _actually_ was in Zaragoza with him,” she said haughtily. “I am sure if you write to the embassy there, they will attest to it. You cannot do anything to change that fact, Citizenness _Thenardier_.”

The very way Celeste had spat out her maiden name was enough to have Eponine gritting her teeth. “You had no good reason for being there, I’m sure of it!” she hissed.

“You should have seen how lonely he was. What kind of wife leaves her husband in such a state?” Celeste mocked. “Never mind, I will let you enjoy this while you still can. When the time comes, and it surely will, I’ll remember to thank you for teaching him all these years what he can do to please _me_.”

Eponine saw red, more so when she met the other woman’s triumphant smirk. In an instant her fist connected with Celeste’s nose, sending her sprawling backwards into her seat. “You know nothing of him!” she shouted, stamping her foot.

Celeste’s eyes were wide with shock as she looked at Eponine, before she pressed her hands to her now bloody nose and screamed. “You bitch! This was silk!”

“I don’t care. I don’t care as long as you never come near us, ever again!” Eponine retorted as she grabbed the note from the table and hurried back upstairs. Once she was in the darkness of the hallway, she sank against the wall and sat on the floor, burying her face in her skirt to muffle her sobs. ‘ _Maybe that was why his letters were so odd. Maybe that was why he was so unsure with me last night,’_ she thought, recalling now his tentative prose, and most especially his sudden hesitancy when beginning to make love to her the night before.

She looked up and listened for any sounds of anyone coming to investigate, but found that she was very much alone in the quiet hallway. “At least best to do this while everyone is still asleep or at least not bothering,” she resolved as she got up and wiped her face with her sleeve before going to her room and knocking twice on the door.


	46. Finding the Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a hard chapter to write, and possibly read. Warnings for discussion of sexual assault, implications of adultery, and some full frontal nudity (in a bathtub, but still)

**Chapter 46: Finding the Words**

Owing to the enthusiasm of their activities the night before, it took Enjolras a good while to find his pantaloons, and then locate the rest of the clothing and personal effects that he and Eponine had scattered from the terrace to the bed. ‘ _At least it wasn’t taken by birds, thieves or anything,’_ he thought as he finally found his coat right where he’d tossed it aside on the terrace. Instead of donning all his clothes immediately, he took the time to shake out the fine dress that Eponine had worn to the ball, before carefully draping it over a chair. Just as he was about to put on his shirt, he heard a couple of knocks on the door. “Who’s there?” he called, not turning around.

“It’s just me,” Eponine replied. “We need to talk, Antoine.”

Enjolras now turned to look at her, and nearly dropped his shirt at what he saw. All the laughter and mischief that had emanated from Eponine earlier that morning had vanished, and now she was very pale, and her eyes were puffy as if she had been crying. “What happened? Is something wrong?” he asked, going to her.

Eponine sniffed before looking up at him. “Who is Celeste Berlioz?”

The mention of this name was like a punch to Enjolras’ gut. “Someone who should not be here in Venice,” he muttered, glancing to the door. “She’s downstairs, isn’t she?”

“So you do know her,” Eponine said bitterly, grabbing his hand before he could step past her. “I dealt with her already, and I don’t s’pose she’ll come up to cause more trouble. But before that, she gave me this,” she continued, pressing a piece of paper into his palm.

Enjolras unfolded the scrap only to be greeted by his own handwriting. As he read through the vaguely familiar words, he felt his gut twist as he realized just where this unfinished note had originated from. “It was not meant for her,” he said, speaking slowly to keep his voice from shaking.

“I thought so; it sounds like some attempt of the letter you did send me.”

“It is.”

Eponine nodded slowly as she sat on the bed, studying him intently for a few moments as he stood a few paces away. “She said a lot of awful, terrible things. And I know I shouldn’t believe them.” She took a deep breath, as if trying to also collect her thoughts. “But I know something happened in Zaragoza.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nearly every letter you wrote after seemed so different, like you were distracted. And I am sure now it had to do with her.”

It was all that Enjolras could do not to wince, more so on seeing the hurt that Eponine could no longer mask in her expression. “She came there unlooked for, following us all the way from Aix, at least that is what I deduced,” he began. The memory of that darkened room in Zaragoza now swelled before his vision, and he had to pause for a moment. “She illicitly entered the ambassador’s house, was taken into custody and was supposed to have been deported straight back to France. I believe that it was during the confusion when she stole the draft of the letter.”

“She committed a burglary just to steal your unfinished letter?”

“Not a burglary. There was no force involved.”

“That’s a lawyer’s thing to decide,” Eponine scoffed. “There was more to it, I’m sure.”

‘ _How could she guess that much?’_ Enjolras asked silently, even as he now felt a lump in his throat. “She said some things about you that are not worth repeating now,” he finally said. “The confrontation that ensued was hardly decorous.”

“I can guess. She called me Citizenness _Thenardier,’_ Eponine said, grimacing with disgust. “But that is not the first time anyone’s tried to slight me in your hearing, Antoine.”

“You’re correct.”

“Then, it was something that she said about _you_ , or something completely different.”

Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose as he met Eponine’s questioning eyes. “What more do you want to know about it?”

“Something, anything. Why it bothers you so, till now,” Eponine said. She swallowed hard, clearly trying to keep her composure. “She’s closer to your age. You knew her from before. You don’t…have any feelings for her?”

“Never.”

“Then why does she affect you so?”

“I mean it when I say that the confrontation was not decorous,” Enjolras said. Once again he could feel sharp fingernails stinging his skin, but he took a deep breath to try to keep himself from being sick at the recollection. “The police had to be summoned.”

Eponine’s jaw dropped at this revelation. “And you never told me about that?”

“It was not something I could simply explain in writing,” he admitted.

“Not even to me?”

He shook his head. There was no way he could have possibly set down in ink the revulsion and trepidation of that evening, not without feeling that dreaded paralysis that had him desperately seeking light in darkened rooms each evening. “It doesn’t matter now, Eponine.”

“It does, if it hurts you so.” She got up from the bed and crossed to him in a few strides. “I need to know what she did _to you_. I can’t…I can’t just let it tear you apart. You don’t write the same, you aren’t sleeping well, and God knows what else has gone wrong since then.”

“It was in the past.”

“It’s not, I can feel it.”

Enjolras looked down and saw that he was now gripping Eponine’s hands so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, and that she was biting her lip as if to hold back her own pain. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered as he let go of her hands.

“Antoine, please don’t,” she said, grabbing his arm swiftly before he could step back. She uncurled one of his clenched fists and slipped her fingers between his even as she brought her other hand up to touch his face. “You’re shaking. Like you were last night.”

“I was trying to forget,” he choked out. He could feel something hot stinging his eyes now even as he looked at Eponine, taking in every detail of her that was so different from Celeste, from her still wild auburn hair to that stubborn fire in her dark eyes. “Her hands…I never wanted them there. She wasn’t supposed to be there.”

Eponine’s face was stricken for a moment, but she nodded slowly as she pressed her forehead to his. “But I’m here now, with you. I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered fiercely. 

“I know,” Enjolras managed to say before pulling her to him desperately, now no longer trusting his own feet to keep him steady. Her arms wrapped around his trembling shoulders as he buried his face in her hair just to take in her scent, if only to block out the dark visions still before him. All the while she was murmuring something in his ear, but all he was aware of was the warmth of her body pressed up against his bare chest and the steady beating of her heart against his own racing heartbeat. After a long while he felt he could breathe more easily, more so when he felt her plant a kiss on his temple. “I wish I could have told you earlier. I’m sorry,” he said against her now wet cheek.

“I s’pose I can understand now why you _couldn’t_ even if you _would_ have,” Eponine said, wiping his face with her sleeve. “We need to wash up.”

“Here?”

“There’s a room for this to the side. You’ll feel better even if you have to wear yesterday’s clothes till we find something fresher or you get your clothes at Citizen Brisbois’ house.”

Enjolras nodded before he followed her to a small room adjoining the bedroom. Here a large iron tub was set up to be filled with a pipe that was open and shut by a gilt spigot. Some towels and washcloths were stacked on a rack to the side. “This is a new luxury,” he observed as he took off his pantaloons and got into the tub.

“It won’t be a luxury if it catches on. Wouldn’t it be nice if more homes in France had these?” Eponine asked as she also began to undress. “We’ll fit, I promise,” she added, getting in to sit behind him.

Enjolras hissed when cold water hit his skin almost as soon as Eponine turned the spigot to fill the tub, but he relaxed when he felt her hands gently splashing water into his hair. As new as this experience was, he found it soothing to lean into her touch, more so when she began humming an old ditty while she worked some soap into his scalp and the back of his neck. He shut his eyes when he felt her hands moving to wash his face, then lower down to his chest. “I should have figured that you would perceive something in the correspondence,” he said at length.

“You hid it well,” she admitted before kissing his shoulder. “I don’t blame you.”

“I didn’t want any of this to happen, Eponine,” he whispered. “Normally these diplomatic expeditions are discreet; no one in Aix, outside of my parents, knew of my itinerary in Spain. But still, this happened.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate a woman’s ways when trying to find out things, especially those that she shouldn’t,” she pointed out as she continued to wash his back. “But did anyone else ever figure out what actually happened? Not even Jacques?”

Enjolras frowned at the recollection of Jacques’ actions during this debacle. “Your brother had his own troubles to deal with.”

“What sort of troubles?”

“Being fifteen years old.”

Eponine snorted. “I s’pose I will be the one to actually _ask_ him about these things, if he will ever tell me.”

“You might have more success than I have had,” he pointed out. “How did Neville fare?”

“I’d say very well; he made a number of acquaintances and was more than simply useful,” she said. “I only wish I’d actually seen when he, Combeferre and Claudine presented to the Royal Society in London.”

‘ _Perhaps Combeferre will be able to tell more about it,’_ Enjolras decided. He reached for a plug in the bottom of the tub to drain the water. “Your turn,” he said to Eponine before filling up the tub again.

“Oh,” Eponine said, smiling before moving around so that she now had her back to him. “I think that _Signor_ de Caro has a large tank or something for all this water, hidden on the roof. The pipes seem to run down from there.”

“Then where does the water go after?”

“I s’pose out into the canals. I wouldn’t swim in them for the same reason I would never take another dip into the Seine.”

‘ _Thankfully we are past those days,’_ Enjolras reflected while beginning to wash Eponine’s hair, running his fingers through it to get rid of the tangles and snarls. Much to his surprise her tresses were longer than he remembered, now reaching to above her waist instead of just below her shoulder blades. Even though the sight of her sitting bare in front of him was stirring his ardor once again, he contented himself with a quick kiss on the back of her neck as he sponged down her sides and her stomach. He smiled when he heard her sigh happily before leaning back to rest her head under his chin after he was done helping her wash. “Was it only the letter you wanted to talk about?” he asked.

Eponine craned her neck to look at him properly. “You might think it’s silly, but some of those awful things she said, I almost believed them till you told me why you were acting so odd.”

He winced. “My apologies. Again.”

“I should have remembered that we know each other better than that,” she confessed. “You don’t toss aside loyalties so easily.”

Enjolras shook his head, now realizing what had probably transpired downstairs. “You already know that my choices will not change, especially where you are concerned,” he reminded her. He kissed her left hand, lingering over the finger where she wore her wedding ring. “We made our promises.”

“Publicly,” Eponine quipped before kissing him on the mouth. “I love you, Antoine.”

Enjolras kissed her back for a few moments before pulling away to empty the tub, and then help them both out of the bath. He swiftly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around Eponine’s shoulders before fetching one for himself. He dried himself off as quickly as he could, then dressing in the same clothes he had worn the night before. He turned to see Eponine pulling another blue dress out of the armoire. “Any particular reason?” he asked as he went over to help do up the fastenings at the back.

“It’s nicer than what I had on earlier,” she said, holding her hair out of the way. “I s’pose we’ll have a lot to do today, and I want to look presentable,” she added as she began to put up her hair into a simple knot.

All of a sudden, three hurried knocks sounded on the door. “Eponine? Is everything well?” Combeferre asked from outside.

Enjolras glanced towards where Eponine was still sticking in some hairpins before he went to open the door just a crack. “Good morning there, Combeferre,” he greeted.

Combeferre chuckled knowingly. “Very well then, you’re _both_ being sought out by Citizen Brisbois. He’s downstairs.”

‘ _Which saves us some of the trouble,’_ Enjolras decided. “Are you ready?” he asked Eponine, who was now smoothing out her dress.

“Like I always am,” Eponine said, grinning widely as she took his hand while he opened the bedroom door.


	47. To Gather Friends and Foes

**Chapter 47: To Gather Friends and Foes**

Even before Eponine, Enjolras, and Combeferre were halfway down the stairs, the three could already hear the hubbub of astounded conversation from the general direction of the living room. “Good morning _Signor_ de Caro,” Eponine greeted the proprietor of the inn, who was emerging from the vicinity of the kitchen.

“I had your breakfast sent to the living room, as per request of the Ambassador from France,” de Caro said by way of greeting. He nodded knowingly at Enjolras. “And welcome to my humble establishment, _Signor_ Enjolras. I am glad you had a wonderful evening.”

Enjolras’ cheeks flushed for a moment. “Good morning, _Signor_. I thank you for your hospitality.” He gave Eponine a sidelong glance. “I’ll have to find a way to compensate him, at least till the question of our lodgings is settled,” he muttered.

De Caro burst out laughing. “I was a young man in love once; I made many even a novice swoon with my uniform,” he boasted. “Though what on _earth_ did you do to that pretty _signora_ who called on you this morning?” he asked Eponine.

“We had a spat. Where is she now?” Eponine answered in an undertone.

“I sent her to her lodgings, and hopefully her nose isn’t broken,” Combeferre informed her. “I know you wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t been provoked, but Citizen Brisbois is _not_ happy and wishes to hear your sides of the matter,” he added, looking at both his friends. 

Eponine glanced down at Enjolras’ hand, which was gripping hers tightly. “Then we’ll let him hear it, shan’t we?” she said as they went the rest of the way down the stairs, and headed to the sunlit living room, where she could smell the aroma of fresh bread and hot coffee. She saw Jacques conversing easily with Brisbois, who was clad in another ostentatious suit of orange. Lamarre was sipping some coffee while rubbing his eyes, which were dark with lack of sleep. ‘ _Looks like some people enjoyed themselves too much at the ball,’_ she noted, seeing that there was another man also snoring in one of the armchairs.

Enjolras nodded by way of greeting. “Good morning, gentlemen. I apologize if we kept you waiting for far too long,” he said as they took their seats.

“I would have been surprised if you had emerged any earlier, Citizen Enjolras. Never mind our friend Citizen LeClerc there; he is no morning person,” Brisbois said amiably, gesturing to the sleeping man in the armchair. He paused to take a bite of a sugar-covered pastry. “Your brother-in-law has a most interesting comparison to make regarding balls in Madrid and the one here.”

“Which is?” Enjolras asked.

Jacques colored slightly. “I liked the dancing in Spain, but the food here in Italy is better.”

“I would suggest you go to Tuscany for the finest eating,” Brisbois remarked. He raised an eyebrow at Lamarre, who was holding back a yawn. “Perhaps I should send for stronger coffee?”

Lamarre shook his head. “Did you two sleep at all?” he asked Eponine and Enjolras in a baleful tone.

“Well enough. Why, did you have trouble?” Eponine answered innocently.

“I thought that arriving back here at half past two in the morning would be a guarantee of finding the house to be quiet,” Lamarre mumbled, turning red up to his ears.

Combeferre shrugged sagely as he picked up his coffee cup. “I would advise less coffee if you are a light sleeper. This is an old house with thin walls after all.”

Enjolras reddened slightly even as he picked up a piece of warm bread from a tray. “I heard there was another concern you wished to raise?” he asked Brisbois calmly.

“Perhaps you could explain what transpired here this morning?” Brisbois asked, looking sharply at Eponine. “A certain Citizenness Berlioz complained to me in person, saying you had ill-used her and hit her in the face?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Eponine saw Jacques go pale, while Enjolras was watching her from over a cup of coffee. “Did she also tell you that she’d come here to Italy just to show me a letter she’d stolen from my husband and make up a lie about it?” she asked dryly.

Brisbois’ jaw dropped. “I do not think she mentioned that,” he said after a few moments. “What did she say?”

‘ _He really just had to ask,’_ Eponine thought, looking Brisbois in the face. “That he had been carrying on with her,” she said flatly. “Specifically, while I was away in England.”

The diplomat looked at her incredulously before bursting out into laughter. “She probably misinterpreted a little flirtation. With all due respect, these things are perfectly natural, Citizenness!”

“And with all due respect as well, Citizen, an untruth widely circulated is called slander,” Enjolras said coldly as he set down his drink. “Which is an offense that can be prosecuted in France and in other countries as well.”

Brisbois looked down for a moment. “Surely you will not take it that far Citizen, over what is merely a misunderstanding between two women?” he asked.

“I would not call illegally entering an ambassador’s residence, stealing my correspondence, and misrepresenting facts to the police during a questioning, and showing the aforementioned missive to my wife with all intent of sowing ill will as a mere misunderstanding,” Enjolras continued, not breaking eye contact with Brisbois.

“Those are very serious charges, Citizen,” Brisbois said. “Can anyone vouch for that?”

Jacques cleared his throat. “I can. Well if you count me as old enough to do so, but I was there for most of it,” he said bravely.

“What is this, a personal vendetta that the lady has with one of you?” Brisbois asked, looking from Enjolras to Eponine. “Citizen D’Aramitz, her companion, said that she was a perfectly kind and peaceable creature.”

‘ _It cannot be!’_ Eponine thought, remembering the somberly dressed diplomat she had run into at the Home Office. “You do not mean the same diplomat who accompanied you to Spain?” she asked him.

Enjolras nodded. “Yes. Citizen Belmont, the Ambassador to Spain, charged him to facilitate Citizenness Berlioz’s deportation and to also make a preliminary report in Paris.” His brow furrowed with worry and alarm. “You’ve met him?”

“In Paris. It wasn’t very long, just a passing talk in a hallway when Feuilly was around, but he didn’t mention Citizenness Berlioz,” Eponine replied. ‘ _Or he simply did not choose to.’_

“Citizenness Enjolras is correct; we ran into him at the Home Office in Paris, a mere day before we set out here,” Lamarre chimed in. “But no, that cannot be. How could he have gotten here so quickly?”

“That would depend what time he and the lady left Paris,” a sleepy voice chimed in. All eyes turned towards LeClerc, who was now sitting up and yawning. “It is not entirely out of the realm of possibility or probability.”

“How so?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The most usual way to leave Paris for other parts in the south is the morning train that goes from Bercy Station to Lyon by way of Dijon, but the afternoon train that leaves from Bercy and goes to Orleans can put one at a head start of several hours,” LeClerc explained, gesturing with his hands for emphasis. “From Orleans one can travel all night on the train to St. Etienne or Lyon, and be in Grenoble even before the morning Bercy train is in Dijon.”

“Likewise, taking a chartered coach or diligence would also serve to swiftly bridge some distances in lieu of waiting for trains,” Combeferre noted. “At the very best he would have had half a day to a full day ahead of any of us here, excepting Citizen Brisbois of course. At the very worst, such as in the case of an accident on the railroad or an upset with the carriages, he could have arrived last night with much time to settle himself and any companion. ”

“The only fault I see of his is in not calling on me straightaway, if indeed your ludicrous theories are correct,” Brisbois muttered.

“Did he actually say what he was doing here in Venice?” LeClerc enquired. “He is after all assigned to the Spanish arm of our diplomatic corps, and not to the contingent dealing with all these Italian states.”

“What business is it of yours?” Brisbois asked scornfully.

“If he is accompanying a French citizen who has been deported from another country, then that may mean he is in the company of someone who is still under investigation by our Home Office,” Lamarre pointed out. “That would be irregular.”

“Have you considered the possibility that Citizenness Berlioz has already undergone the investigation and has been cleared?” Brisbois asked. “Unless she has a pending legal case in France, she cannot be barred from traveling.”

Eponine bit her lip even as she saw Enjolras’ fists clench as he shook his head. ‘ _Is there any law to cover what that horrible woman did to him?’_ she wondered even as she moved closer so that she was more within his line of sight. “I s’pose the only way to be sure of this is to actually ask Citizen D’Aramitz what business brings him and Citizenness Berlioz to Venice,” she said.

Brisbois snorted. “Are you casting doubt on a veteran of our diplomatic corps, Citizenness?”

“No, just the person he is accompanying.”

“These are diplomatic affairs, Citizenness, which are best resolved among us diplomats.”

“Nevertheless, it would be in the best interest of any embassy to officially document the business of visiting diplomats and any persons they vouch for,” Enjolras said tersely. “Had it not been for the altercation with Citizenness Berlioz this morning, there is a possibility that Citizen D’Aramitz would have delayed his courtesy call further.”

“Or even, not made it at all,” Lamarre supplied.

“Well if that is the case the thing to do is to call on him myself,” Brisbois said. He sighed deeply as he stirred his coffee. “I was hoping that my main trouble today would be moving you all into my residence, but now there is this and that matter of meeting your English friends,” he added, directing this last jibe at Lamarre.

“That appointment is this afternoon,” Lamarre said, looking to Eponine for confirmation.

“Yes, at the Clock Tower,” Eponine replied. “It isn’t far from here, I s’pose?”

“It’s close to everything; you can see it from every gondola in Venice,” Jacques chimed in.

“It’s even closer to Citizen Brisbois’ residence,” LeClerc said. “Which is ideal since after you move your things there, you can still have time to spare for the meeting. Actually, we might be able to join you as well after meeting up with Citizen D’Aramitz.”

Brisbois scoffed. “You gentlemen will see for yourselves that this is merely distrust on your part, and that this matter with Citizenness Berlioz was a simple squabble. Citizen Enjolras, Citizen Combeferre, and Citizen Thenardier you are free to join us.”

“I certainly will,” Enjolras said. He nodded to Combeferre and Eponine. “If I am at liberty I will meet you both and Citizen Lamarre at the Clock Tower.”

‘ _I’ll let Jacques decide where he wants to go then,’_ Eponine thought as she excused herself to head upstairs and begin packing for the move. Before she left the room she made sure to nod discreetly to Enjolras, who almost imperceptibly returned this before he rejoined the conversation. ‘ _I’m sure he knows as well as I do that Citizen Brisbois is acting quite strangely from how he was just last night,’_ she noted as she quickly packed up the clothes she had hung in the armoire, as well as other personal effects she had set out in the room. Within a quarter of an hour she, as well as Combeferre and Lamarre, had already moved the suitcases downstairs to the living room where Brisbois, LeClerc and Lamarre were settling the bill for the inn.

Outside the inn, two gondolas were already waiting. Enjolras discreetly motioned for Eponine, Combeferre and Jacques to join him in one of the boats. As soon as they were settled in and some distance from the diplomats, who were only beginning to board their watercraft, he looked at them seriously. “Jacques already knows this, but Citizen D’Aramitz had other dealings in Spain apart from his role in deporting Citizenness Berlioz,” he said in Occitan.

“Dealings that the ambassador to Spain was aware or unaware of?” Combeferre asked in Occitan as he casually wiped his glasses.

“For the most part, the latter,” Enjolras explained. “When we were in Spain we had some sensitive discussions with a number of individuals from different regions. These meetings were conducted with utmost discretion and propriety, yet by the time we arrived in Madrid, they had been rather misrepresented. Citizen D’Aramitz has some connections to the émigré community there as it turns out, and I suspect even further.”

‘ _If only I could think so quickly in Occitan,’_ Eponine thought as she nodded. “But what makes his meeting and double-dealing any different from that of any other diplomat?” she asked. “I see it all the time among the diplomats I have to do translating for even in Paris.”

“I have reason to believe that one of his associates was involved in an incident that nearly took the lives of Ambassador Belmont and a companion of his.” Enjolras said. “To some degree, Citizen Belmont trusted Citizen D’Aramitz too much.”

“That _is_ unusual for a diplomat,” Eponine pointed out. “Even Feuilly plays his own cards close to his chest when he is at work.”

“Considering all of this, is it wise to openly confront Citizen D’Aramitz, especially if he has Citizenness Berlioz in tow?” Combeferre asked. “He sounds like a schemer, and the lady might do something desperate if she sees you around.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “What did she tell you?”

“To put it succinctly she had two complaints: the ruined state of her dress, and the fact that you seemed out to spurn her,” Combeferre replied. “I gather she was a childhood friend?”

“That would be stretching the truth very much,” Enjolras deadpanned.

“Not even his own cousin Henri knew her very well, when we all chanced to be at the diligence station in Aix,” Jacques observed. “She didn’t seem to like the sight of the little ones.”

‘ _I definitely cannot be friends with anyone who looks at my children that way,’_ Eponine thought, already imagining Celeste’s disdainful expression. She looked up to see the sunlight dancing over the rippling waterways as they passed to the busier parts of Venice. Before long they were out on the famed Grand Canal, which flowed out next to the famed St. Mark’s Square with its renowned piazza. ‘ _Which we’ll get to walk later,’_ she reminded herself more gleefully as she inched closer to let Enjolras discreetly put an arm around her waist. 

A quarter of an hour later, their gondola as well as the other carrying the three diplomats arrived at Brisbois’ residence. The ambassador lost no time in directing his servants to conduct the guests to their lodgings and have their luggage carried upstairs. Eponine followed Enjolras to his room midway down a long corridor that opened out to large verandas on either side. “And every room has a balcony of its own?” she asked, seeing upon entering that this guestroom also had a terrace of its own.

“It does well for ventilation,” Enjolras deadpanned as he opened the doors to let in some much-needed air. “It isn’t as luxurious as your room at the inn, but will it suffice?”

“With you? Anything will,” Eponine replied, looking around their quarters. The bed, which was tastefully pushed into an alcove, was large enough for both of them. The polished floorboards had only a brown and gold area rug by way of décor; the rug’s motif was echoed in the upholstery of the room’s two armchairs. A large cabinet stood at one end to house all their belongings. “I don’t think I shall unpack much if we’ll be moving to another city soon enough,” she told Enjolras.

“Should you change your mind, there is more than enough space for both of us,” Enjolras said as he took off his now wrinkled tailcoat as well as his waistcoat. He retrieved a clean shirt from a drawer before going over to sit next to her on the bed. “Jacques must accompany you, Combeferre, and Lamarre to meet the Calamys,” he said firmly as he took off his dirty shirt and set it aside. “It is likely that what should be a simple discussion could turn into an unlooked-for confrontation.”

‘ _Especially with that horrible Citizenness Berlioz,’_ Eponine thought grimly while she kicked off her shoes and lay back on the bed to rest while her husband continued to change into clean clothes. The idea of Enjolras once again confronting the person who’d caused him sleepless nights was enough to give her a headache, at least till she felt him stand up from the bed. She watched him cross the room to rummage through his belongings in a chest of drawers, evidently searching for something he had carefully hidden away. “Are you really going to bring those?” she asked as she saw him bring out a carefully locked box.

“Yes, only because I saw what happened to Citizen Belmont,” Enjolras said grimly as he unlocked the box. “He was with a good friend of his, Citizen Pasqual. The latter was far more grievously injured, and he had not recovered much by the time Jacques and I left Madrid.”

“What exactly happened?”

“According to onlookers, a statue fell on them from atop an old house.”

Eponine shuddered, already imagining the scene. “That sort of thing does not usually happen,” she said, sitting up as she saw him put his two pistols in the pockets of his waistcoat. “But you can bring him down without firing a shot? I’ve seen you do it before.”

“That is to be hoped.”

“Maybe that can happen. After all, when I saw Citizen D’Aramitz, I didn’t think he’d be the sort to fire first.”

“That was my impression of him as well when we met in Nimes,” Enjolras confided as he donned one of his usual morning coats. “Are you bringing any of your own pistols?”

“I do not see why I’d need them; I’m only meeting two friends,” Eponine reasoned as she got to her feet and went over to help straighten out his cravat. She willed her fingers not to shake, but she could not help biting her lip as she met Enjolras’ eyes. “It shouldn’t be long; for all you know we’ll be the ones to rush over and join you while you are all still arguing with Citizen D’Aramitz!”

Enjolras smirked before clasping her hands. “Perhaps that will be so. I will see you later.”

Eponine smiled at this familiar turn of phrase before kissing him. “Of course.”


	48. An Unholy Alliance

**Chapter 48: An Unholy Alliance**

If the canals crisscrossing Venice were picturesque even to Enjolras’ untrained eye, the network of streets supplementing these waterways only seemed labyrinthine and even a little cumbersome to him. “Going by water may have been quicker than navigating these roads,” he observed as he, LeClerc and Brisbois walked from the ambassador’s residence in the general direction of the famed bridge known as the Ponte del Rialto. 

“It may have been, but it would require navigating the Grand Canal, which as you have seen is very busy,” LeClerc pointed out. “Though yes, going by boat would have offered us an impressive view of this bridge,” he conceded.

“Mark my words, this bridge’s grand portico will outlive us all,” Brisbois remarked high-spiritedly from where he was walking a few paces ahead of his companions. “It is a wonderful market which puts our Parisian squares and fairs to shame.”

‘ _There cannot be any comparison since in Paris we actually prefer to keep our bridges and thoroughfares for their actual use,’_ Enjolras thought as they came in sight of the Ponte del Rialto, which was crowded with pedestrians as well as shoppers browsing through small stalls situated on the gently sloping ramps leading to the bridge’s central portico. Over the hubbub caused by all this foot traffic, he could hear different church bells tolling the hour; it was around noon.

Brisbois whistled as they stopped at a large inn facing the Grand Canal. “One thing I have to say about Citizen D’Aramitz is that he has good taste in lodgings. Or perhaps it is the lady?” he quipped before he went up to speak to the porter. “Good day, may we please speak to _Signor_ D’Aramitz, one of the lodgers here?” he asked.

The porter looked around and questioned one of his compatriots standing nearby before nodding to Brisbois. “He is in his state room. I believe a lady is with him,” the porter told Brisbois in a confidential tone.

LeClerc blanched at this even as the ambassador pushed his way past the porter and made his way to the stairs. “Should we even be here at this hour?” he asked Enjolras in an undertone as they raced up the stairs at Brisbois’ heels. “We might walk in on something.”

‘ _I should hope not,’_ Enjolras thought, already inwardly cringing at LeClerc’s insinuation. Yet even as they were halfway up the stairs he could already hear raised voices from behind a door on the second floor. He motioned for LeClerc to wait at the landing even as Brisbois hesitated to knock, the latter only clearly perceiving the argument at that moment.

“We had an agreement, Citizenness,” D’Aramitz said irately from inside the closed room. “You were not to act without my express direction, lest we both end up being sent back to France unceremoniously once again.”

“I am the one who is funding this trip, so I think I should have some say on the timing of it all,” Celeste retorted harshly over the swishing of skirts and footsteps pacing the room. “I was not about to wait all day for you to make a decision.”

“You just had to confront the one person I explicitly told you not to face!”

“Your problem is not _my_ problem with her. I had to show her the letter before her husband arrived here in Venice.” 

LeClerc gave Enjolras a confused look. “Citizenness Berlioz does not know that _you_ are in Venice, but she knows that your wife is?” the younger man asked.

‘ _Because D’Aramitz was able to eavesdrop on Eponine’s plans to come here, but he has no idea of my actual itinerary,’_ Enjolras realized as he watched Brisbois scratching his head while pressing an ear to the keyhole. He raised an eyebrow at the ambassador, who was wearing a quizzical expression. ‘ _This will be quite the revelation for him.’_

“The point is we had a deal. I would make sure that the deportation would not be investigated, if you extended your assistance for this trip to Italy,” D’Aramitz fumed. “Do not forget that without my permission or protection, you would be on your own here in a foreign land.”

“Without me, you would have to make your way to Rome by yourself!”

“A matter that could be arranged even without your assistance, Citizenness.”

“I think we’ve heard enough,” LeClerc muttered. He signed to Brisbois furtively. “Shouldn’t we already knock?” he asked in Italian.

Brisbois shrugged and ducked his head as if to hide his sudden pallor. “He hasn’t said anything certain yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“It could be personal affairs that lead him to Rome.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth as he walked past both LeClerc and Brisbois and knocked twice on the stateroom door. “Citizen D’Aramitz, may we speak with you urgently?” he asked in Occitan. He smirked as he heard Celeste’s lighter footsteps fleeing into an adjoining room while D’Aramitz’s heavier ones made their way to the door. “Good day, Citizen,” he greeted the diplomat cordially.

D’Aramitz smiled coolly at Enjolras. “Good day to you as well, Citizen Enjolras. It’s good that you and Citizen Thenardier have made it here to Venice safely.”

“Yes, with the help of Citizen LeClerc. We have been guests of Citizen Brisbois for three days now,” Enjolras said. “May we come in?”

D’Aramitz stepped back to let the gentlemen into the well-appointed though windowless stateroom, which had two connecting doors leading into adjacent chambers. “I was not aware you had any further business to discuss after I called on you this morning, Citizen Brisbois?” he asked.

“It is these two inquisitive gentlemen who have business with you,” Brisbois said, indicating both Enjolras and LeClerc as they all took their seats.

“Really now? How did the rest of the trip to Spain go?” D’Aramitz asked Enjolras casually.

“We had results, which I am sure that you will find detailed in Citizen Belmont’s next report,” Enjolras replied. ‘ _That is, when he is well enough to make it,’_ he thought as he looked straight at D’Aramitz. “And how did your own trip back to France with Citizenness Berlioz go?”

“As well as expected.”

“That is good. And how are you both faring here in Venice?”

D’Aramitz’s eyes widened for a moment but he returned Enjolras’ stare with a sudden steeliness. “I believe that is quite out of the scope of your affairs now, Citizen Enjolras. Is it not unheard of for two persons to get on well during a venture, and decide to extend it further once all necessary matters such as the diplomatic investigation are concluded?”

“Perhaps it is feasible, but is that the actual fact of the matter, Citizen D’Aramitz?”

“Again, that is not your affair.”

LeClerc cleared his throat. “Might I remind you, Citizen D’Aramitz, that you are still a member of our diplomatic corps. Citizen Enjolras has told us that Citizen Belmont sent you back to France to also give a preliminary report. Is it not proper form for us attaches and assistants to consuls to either return to our posts overseas, or remain in France until instructed to otherwise?”

D’Aramitz’s eyes narrowed at the younger diplomat. “What is it to you?”

LeClerc smiled. “Well speaking as a diplomat to a colleague among diplomats, may I please know what business brings you away from Spain, but here to Venice?”

D’Aramitz looked at the three men before him before swiftly reaching into his coat pocket for a bottle, which he unstopped with a single motion. Enjolras quickly moved to pull aside Brisbois, who was next to him, while LeClerc sprang out of the way of the vitriol flung in his direction. A few drops of the vitriol landed on Brisbois’ clothes, sending the ambassador to the floor, screaming as he clutched at his garments and his neck.

“Get him away from that puddle!” Enjolras said to LeClerc urgently as he pulled Brisbois away from the acid that was now eating into the floor. He yanked at Brisbois’ coat, which was already being worn away by the liquid, before he saw LeClerc bring out a small knife. “What?”

“I’ll cut it away, you go get D’Aramitz!” LeClerc hissed, looking to where D’Aramitz had now slammed one of the connecting doors on his way out.

Enjolras ran into the room D’Aramitz had disappeared to, just in time to see the diplomat push Celeste Berlioz aside _en route_ out of the chamber. The woman’s eyes widened on catching sight of Enjolras. “Why, this is a pleasant surprise, you here in Venice!” she crooned.

“Not now!” Enjolras snapped as he pushed past her and out into the hallway. He caught sight of D’Aramitz, who clutching a large folio, now fleeing towards a large balcony. As Enjolras tried to gain on him, the diplomat turned and pulled at a large wooden shelf, sending it crashing to the floor. Enjolras quickly jumped out of the way, but even as he did so he saw D’Aramitz put on a burst of speed and vanish over the balcony railing. He raced over and saw D’Aramitz settling himself in a gondola that was swiftly being rowed down the Grand Canal. ‘ _And with no alternative in sight,’_ Enjolras realized on seeing how far away the nearest watercraft were.

When Enjolras returned to the stateroom he saw that LeClerc had hauled a howling Brisbois onto a settee, and had managed to cut away the ambassador’s coat, waistcoat and part of his shirt. “I upended a vase on him to stop the burning, but I don’t think it’s done much,” LeClerc said, pointing to the angry red blisters that had now formed all over Brisbois’ soaked chest. “Did you get Citizen D’Aramitz?”

“He jumped into a gondola,” Enjolras said tersely. ‘ _One which probably was waiting for him, maybe even before he called on Citizen Brisbois,’_ he mused as he looked once again at Brisbois. “How are you feeling, Citizen?” he asked worriedly.

“I need a doctor!” Brisbois howled. “And look what he did to my clothes!”

“I already called for one,” LeClerc said. He glanced towards the sound of drawers frantically opening and closing in the next room. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said before striding towards the connecting doors.

Enjolras nodded grimly as he saw Brisbois trying to sit up. “It would seem, Citizen, that we now have an investigation before the Home Office,” he said.

“I will make sure that Citizen D’Aramitz will never hold a post out of France again!” Brisbois roared. “I will definitely report this to Citizen Belmont as well; his word will count for much in the case against this viper!”

‘ _That is, if Belmont’s forgiving nature does not hold sway,’_ Enjolras thought even as he saw LeClerc escort Celeste Berlioz into the stateroom with a firm hold on her arm. The woman appeared pale with panic, and her dark eyes were looking everywhere except at the man half-dragging her into the room.

“You have much to answer for, Citizenness,” Enjolras said sharply in French as LeClerc seated the lady into a chair. “Do you even have authorization to be here?”

Celeste’s eyes were wide with apprehension for a moment, but she tilted up her chin haughtily at him. “What is it to you? You are not the only one who can travel under the protection of a diplomat.”

“A diplomat whose illicit trip you were financing,” LeClerc cut in. “In exchange for what?”

Celeste laughed. “Ask Enjolras here. I would never have done it if not for him.”

Enjolras glared at her as he crossed his arms. “This is not some drawing room intrigue, Citizenness Berlioz. You are required to answer with utmost seriousness, on pain of being deported once again without ceremony.”

“How many times have I told you, call me Celeste!”

“I will not stoop to such familiarity with you, Citizenness. What exactly was Citizen D’Aramitz’s intent for being here in Venice?”

Celeste’s lip curled with disdain as she looked from him to the two diplomats. “I doubt you can offer the same protection that Citizen D’Aramitz offered me.”

“He’s only an attache, and to the wrong country at that,” Brisbois said. “I on the other hand am the ambassador of France to the kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia, and in a better position to render you any assistance.”

The woman’s eyes widened with interest. “Well I have my conditions then, just to make sure you will not suddenly leave me in a predicament, like what has just happened here.”

“Name them.”

“I heard that consuls and ambassadors can officiate marriages. There is no reason you cannot do so today for me.”

Brisbois nodded intently, hissing as he chafed his fresh burns. “And the man in question is here in Venice?”

“Why, right next to you,” Celeste said, looking to Enjolras. “Didn’t Enjolras ever tell you that we were childhood sweethearts?”

“No, for the simple fact that it never happened,” Enjolras said with undisguised revulsion. It was all he could do not to look at her still sharp fingernails. “Are you really intent on spreading these falsehoods throughout the continent?”

“Says the one who is in a sham of a marriage!” Celeste laughed. “You know, I talked to her this morning at her lodgings. I cannot see why you would still consider yourself bound to that shameless fright of a woman!”

LeClerc looked around confusedly. “But Citizen Enjolras, you actually did get married in Paris?” he asked. “I mean everything, from the mayor’s office to the church?”

“That I did, and it is definitely none of Citizenness Berlioz’s concern,” Enjolras answered.

“A marriage in Paris? Do you not know that what happens in Paris _stays_ in Paris especially with these prostitutes and grisettes so intent on stealing our decent men?” Celeste crossed and uncrossed her long legs. “I’ve been waiting for him to do the sensible thing which is to come home to Aix and make a proper courtship and marriage there.”

“If this is the aim of your senseless design, I insist you abandon it,” Enjolras said. “You will find no proof to support your claim officially, but rather you will find instead every impediment possible to your cause.”

“Am I not your equal in age and rank?”

“Indeed. You are just five years my junior, but your way of using rouge makes you appear the complete opposite.”

Celeste’s jaw dropped as she got to her feet. “How dare you say such a thing, you brute!” she screamed. “I can’t believe I waited all these years for you!” she cried before rushing into the other room and slamming the door.

LeClerc was aghast as he looked at Enjolras. “I did not expect that from you, of all people.”

Enjolras shrugged. “It is a very costly delusion she is laboring under.”

“Surely that cannot be her _only_ condition for giving over any plans or knowledge she has of Citizen D’Aramitz,” Brisbois said, wincing with pain. “Perhaps it would be possible to make a ruse and pretend--”

“I will not perjure my name or yours, or anyone’s just for this endeavor. There has to be another way,” Enjolras cut in sternly. ‘ _But how?’_ he wondered as he saw several servants and a doctor rush in to attend to Brisbois.


	49. The Drawing Room of Europe

**Chapter 49: The Drawing Room of Europe**

“Are you sure this is the clock tower?”

“Yes; that is what the guards say. What you thought was the clock tower was the _campanile_ , the basilica’s bell tower.”

Eponine felt her face burn as she looked from the tall, freestanding bell tower across the square and back to the graceful arch of the Clock Tower, which opened out onto a main road leading out of the Piazza San Marco. “Well it is more shaded than standing out under the sun,” she said to Combeferre. She paused to push up the sleeves of her dress. “It’s just as warm here as it is sometimes in Aix!”

“Which is not even as hot as Sicily, or to be more apt, the equatorial jungles of Asia or the deserts of Egypt. Those are even further south of here,” Combeferre remarked.

Eponine cringed before she nodded to Lamarre and Jacques, who were both standing on tiptoe and looking out on the people passing by. “Do you see anyone coming?”

Lamarre shook his head. “I hope that we are correct that this _is_ the clock tower.”

Jacques loosened his cravat impatiently. “I do not see why we couldn’t just meet in one of those cafes here.”

“That wouldn’t be as simple,” Lamarre said. “One of the cafes here is favored by the Austrians who have a hold of Venice and northeastern Italy, the other café is preferred by the Venetians. It would not be good to be seen at either.”

“Isn’t there a third option?” Jacques asked.

“Perhaps but I only trust recommendations from the residents,” Lamarre replied as he adjusted his cravat. “This square is beautiful, but I can think of other places that are just as worthy of being called ‘The Drawing Room of Europe.’”

Jacques scratched his head. “Didn’t Napoleon Bonaparte say that?”

“No one is sure,” Combeferre said, looking out towards the square. “There they are now.”

Eponine squinted a few times before finally catching sight of the Calamys hurrying across the piazza. Both of them were dressed in elegant though non-descript dark blue clothes, and the Admiral had taken the additional precaution of wearing a wide brimmed hat in lieu of his usual top hat. “Did you come from far away?” she greeted them in English.

“Not particularly,” Victoria replied. She nodded to Combeferre and Lamarre, but paused on seeing Jacques. “And who might you be?”

“I’m Jacques Thenardier,” the boy said, holding out a hand. “You’re Mrs. Calamy?”

Victoria shook his hand with an astonished and pleased smile. “Yes, and this is my husband,” she added, indicating the Admiral. “We had the pleasure of meeting your older brother in London, in the company of Doctor Combeferre.”

‘ _When did Jacques learn to become so forward?’_ Eponine wondered silently. “He and my husband arrived with one of the attaches on the same day we did,” she informed Victoria.

Victoria’s brow furrowed. “And what route did they take?”

“From Valencia they went to Genoa, then over land like we did,” Eponine said. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“It would depend if they were followed,” the Admiral pointed out grimly. “I am sure that we covered our tracks well.”

Lamarre shook his head. “Not entirely. We were overheard in Paris by one of my colleagues, who has also mysteriously turned up in Venice, without being properly endorsed apparently to the ambassador here, Mr. Brisbois.”

Victoria’s eyes darkened as she looked knowingly at the Admiral and then at Lamarre. “What is his name?”

“Theophile D’Aramitz.”

“That name is unknown to us.”

“It should be, since he was assigned to the embassy at Spain,” Combeferre explained. “But hopefully that matter will be cleared up.”

‘ _Thankfully he did not mention the problem with Citizenness Berlioz,’_ Eponine thought, holding back a sigh of relief. “So far we haven’t found anything outrightly useful. But have you?”

“Only that the Italians in Clerkenwell also had their eyes on some exiles from this peninsula,” Victoria said. “Does the name Giuseppe Mazzini mean anything to you in France?”

Lamarre’s eyes widened with interest. “An exile from Genoa who resided in the Midi some time before the revolution ten years ago. He’s been in Switzerland since, and has passed through France a few times in the years since,” he said. “We have a manifest in the Home Office of exiles, much like how other countries also track our émigré community,” he explained to Eponine, Combeferre, and Jacques.

“I will pick up the tale from here. This Mazzini is a known agitator for Italy to unify as a republic; clearly inspired by the developments in France,” Victoria said dryly. “In England we do not ban talk of republicanism for as long as it does not lead to destabilization, so he found some safe haven there. Until about a fortnight ago, when he left London.”

“Which was around the time we discovered our stolen mail in Clerkenwell,” Eponine pointed out. “Perhaps it had something to do with that?”

“Not exactly. Your mail was targeted because you are known French republicans. The same was done to Mazzini’s mail, for even longer,” Victoria said, not hiding her distaste. “If this becomes known in London, it will cause a public uproar.”

“Then problem is in England then, not here in Italy!”

“I will leave Doctor Maturin to discover the head traitor in our service, but now I need to find out the other end of the chain---that is who is passing or receiving information here in Italy.”

‘ _I wonder if Antoine has heard of this Mazzini fellow,’_ Eponine thought even as she looked towards where some shouts were coming from one of the cafes in the square. She saw some men being shoved out into the open by other cafegoers, with everyone haranguing one another in increasingly louder voices. “Did I just hear the word _liberta_ there?” she asked Victoria in an undertone, seeing that more people were joining the fray.

Victoria nodded. “This could get ugly. We’d better go.”

Eponine glanced back towards the crowd which was now spilling out almost to the arcades bordering the square. Suddenly she saw a solitary figure crouch behind one of the arches and bring out from a coat pocket something that flashed in the afternoon light. Eponine quickly grabbed Jacques’ arm even as she saw Combeferre signal for Victoria and the Admiral to hurry towards the archway. “Run!” Eponine shouted, only to be drowned out by the sharp gunshot that pierced the air. Instantly most of the crowd in the square fled, some to the neighboring arcades and others to the archway of the Clock Tower as more shots rang out from within the piazza and the neighboring buildings.

It was all that Eponine could do to keep her grip on Jacques’ arm as they and their companions ran out ahead of the stampede headed towards the Clock Tower and the wide street behind it. Just as they reached the road, Victoria suddenly screamed. “Peter, no!”

“Get him off the road!” Combeferre shouted as he turned and began pushing his way through the crowd to get to the wounded Admiral. The doctor cursed as someone nearly hit him in the face. “Let me through, someone’s been shot!”

Eponine sprang forward to elbow some passersby out of the way and help Combeferre clear his way to where Victoria was pressing her hands to a rapidly spreading stain on her husband’s shoulder. Just as she got to the scene, she saw that another figure was now alongside Combeferre, already trying to lift the wounded man. “Joly!”

“Good to see you’re not hit too!” Joly greeted quickly. He nodded to Bossuet and Grantaire, who’d also succeeded in pushing their way through the crowd. “Just off to the side, so we can have a better look at him.”

“Can’t we move him to a house?” Victoria shouted hysterically. “We can’t have him die out here on the street!”

“We’ll get him stable, then we’ll go indoors to remove the bullet,” Combeferre said firmly as he grasped Victoria’s arms. “You and I, as well as my friend Joly here have all been taught well by Doctor Maturin. I need your help if we are to save your husband.”

Victoria swallowed hard and nodded. “Thank you,” she murmured, looking to where Joly, Bossuet and Grantaire had managed to move the Englishman to the steps of a nearby edifice and were now helping Joly set out some instruments from a bag.

Eponine saw Jacques and Lamarre jogging up, and a few steps behind them were Nicholine Grantaire as well as Musichetta. “What are you all doing here?” Eponine asked in disbelief on seeing more of her friends.

“Not all; Jehan and Courfeyrac are here too,” Musichetta said breathlessly before enveloping Eponine in a tight hug. “For a moment there I thought we’d all be lost! Why on earth did you come here and leave us all in Paris?” she chided.

“You’d have done the same thing in my position if it was Joly abroad on a dangerous mission,” Eponine said, hugging her friend back before also pulling Nicholine into this embrace. “I can’t believe even you are here too!”

“Someone has to keep Laurent in line,” Nicholine said dryly. “And I guess all of you out of danger as well.”

“Yes, that’s why Combeferre and I are here for Antoine and my brother,” Eponine said, glancing towards where the physicians and Victoria were stemming the bleeding from Admiral Calamy’s shoulder. She felt a pit grow in her stomach as she saw her friends’ serious expressions. “There’s more to it?”

“Courfeyrac will explain---now where on earth has that man and Jehan gone off to?” Bossuet chimed in as he went up to them. “They were supposed to be in the basilica, but I didn’t see them running out with us.”

“Give me a minute,” Eponine whispered before bolting back into the piazza. After a few paces she looked back and saw Grantaire also running to keep pace with her. “Now you tell me, since everyone else is being all secretive. What are you all doing here?” she asked him bluntly.

“Acting as Hermes, but going with you, Enjolras, and Combeferre till the end of this Odyssey,” Grantaire said in an undertone. He paused and pointed towards the basilica. “Looks like they have found a new sparring partner.”

Eponine turned to see Courfeyrac and Jehan arguing heatedly with a balding man whose slight build seemed a little lost in his morning coat. “Over here! We’re fine!” she called as she hurried up to them. “What are you doing here in Venice?”

“I will only tell all when we are in the safety of the embassy,” Courfeyrac said, smiling with relief on seeing her. “It’s not far from here?”

“A short walk,” Eponine said before boxing Jehan lightly on his shoulder. “And you! Leaving my sister and my nephew alone in Paris?” she asked him.

“Gavroche agreed to check in on them, and besides Bahorel and Feuilly are also there,” Jehan pointed out, rubbing his shoulder. “Is Enjolras with you?”

The man who Jehan and Courfeyrac had been arguing with now cleared his throat and made a slight bow by way of greeting. “Excuse me for a moment, _Signora_ , but you are the Rose of the Radicaux?” he asked, looking intently at Eponine.

“I prefer being called Citizenness Eponine Enjolras,” Eponine replied warily as she held out a gloved hand. “And who might you be?”

“You can call me _Signor_ Giuseppe Mazzini,” the Italian stranger replied, shaking her hand. “I was just asking your…compatriots here about what they were doing in the square, and now I find you here as well.”

‘ _Wasn’t he supposed to be in exile in England?’_ Eponine wondered, even as she willed herself not to look back to the exit leading to the street where she suspected Victoria still was waiting. “I am here in Venice on personal business, _Signor_ Mazzini. The same is true for my brother-in-law and my friend here,” she said, indicating Jehan and Courfeyrac in turn.

“For persons like us, yourself included _Signora_ Enjolras, there is a thin line between the personal and the political,” Mazzini said sternly. “Several of my acquaintances were shot in this square alone, over what was a simple political argument. That is not something that can simply be taken as a personal matter.”

“A friend of mine was also grievously shot outside in the street while we were trying to get away,” Eponine pointed out. She put her gloved hands in the pockets of her skirt and her coat to turn them out. “As you can see I didn’t bring anything for this sort of ruckus.”

Mazzini nodded slowly. “Then this complicates matters. I heard your husband is here in Venice too, on a mission?”

Eponine swallowed hard. “He is with the ambassador.”

“I need to speak with him, as soon as possible,” Mazzini said. “There are some urgent matters that he, as well as the rest of your group here must know before spending another day or two in Venice.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giuseppe Mazzini is an important personage in the saga of Italian unification. Historically he was still in exile at this time but this is a topsy turvy world


	50. The Masters of Venice

**Chapter 50: The Masters of Venice**

It was two in the afternoon, or at least Enjolras surmised it was so by the distant tolling of the church bells, by the time he saw the doctor leave the room where Brisbois had been taken to tend to his wounds. “How is the ambassador?” he asked even as LeClerc got up from where he’d been reading on a sofa in the stateroom.

“The damage is mostly cosmetic; he was only lucky that the vitriol was washed off right away and did not get into his eyes,” the doctor said sagely. “Here in Venice are many unguents and salves that may be used to restore the suppleness of his skin, if he so insists, even if their results may be rather variable.”

“That being the least of our problems now,” LeClerc fumed, glancing towards the other door in the room, which had been locked. “She still has not calmed down.”

The doctor looked to the locked door. “Ah yes, _Signor_ Brisbois mentioned the lady. From what he told me it sounds like she has a classic case of hysteria. Sadly, a rather common nervous ailment among women.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “How is that supposed to be treated?”

“The more delicate remedies include the application of pleasant aromas and perhaps smelling salts” the doctor replied. “We shall hope those will suffice.”

“And if those do not?” LeClerc asked, but the doctor had already quit the room to look in on Celeste. “I’m no physician, obviously, but I was under the impression that fewer women in France were getting diagnosed with it?” he asked Enjolras.

“Perhaps we can confirm that with Combeferre,” Enjolras mused aloud even as a knock sounded on the stateroom’s main door. He opened it a crack only to find Riva looking back at him. “This is a surprise, _Signor_ Riva,” he said by way of greeting.

Riva nodded furtively. “We heard that _Signor_ Brisbois was visiting here. Is it possible for us to speak with him?” he asked.

“I see,” Enjolras said, noticing now that two other men stood behind Riva. He nodded to LeClerc, who quickly went into the room where Brisbois was resting. Enjolras opened the door more widely. “I do not believe we’ve had the pleasure of being introduced,” he said to Riva’s companions.

“I am Dante Contarini, and this here is my friend Renato Molin,” the older of these two strangers replied. Even with his thinning grey hair and full beard, he still had the imposing presence of one who had once held a military command. On the other hand, Molin was portlier, with a full head of black hair and congenial features. “You must be _Signor_ Antoine Enjolras. Welcome to Venice,” Contarini added.

“Yes, that is my name,” Enjolras said, shaking the men’s hands in turn. He looked questioningly at Riva. “Did you say anything to them?”

“We were at the ball last night in his family’s house,” Molin said, indicating Riva. “It is a pity that you made yourself scarce so early in the festivities, _Signor_ Enjolras.”

“Ah yes,” Enjolras said, remembering now the circumstances that had led him to quit the party early. He turned to see LeClerc reentering the stateroom. “What happened?”

LeClerc gritted his teeth, clearly unsure what to say. “ _Signors_ , the Ambassador says that he is indisposed,” he said quickly in Italian.

Molin swore under his breath while Riva cringed. “He is indisposed _again?”_ Contarini asked, his eyes narrowed with disgust. “What good then is he doing here if this is his attitude every time something important must be discussed?”

Riva heaved a deep sigh. “I will deal with him, _Signors_ ,” he said before nodding to LeClerc and heading into the room the latter had just vacated.

‘ _Clearly there is some long-standing quarrel,’_ Enjolras observed as he looked from LeClerc to the two Venetian visitors. “Is there any way I can assist you both?” he asked after a moment.

“Well your very presence here in this moment is an opportunity,” Contarini said more amiably. “Had you not been spirited away by your lovely dancing partner last night, I would have had some discussion with you regarding some current affairs here in Venice, or by extension the kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia.”

“My wife and I had an appointment we could not miss,” Enjolras deadpanned. “What affairs in particular?”

Molin quickly took a seat and looked keenly at Enjolras. “What presently is France’s standing with the Kingdom of Austria?”

“France recognizes Austria as a neighbor state, and allows for trade and legitimate passage over borders. The recognition is mutual,” Enjolras said.

“Indeed. Would that same recognition be extended to a state that Austria might declare as illegitimate or as an enemy?”

“Do you speak only of Venice and the province of Venetia, or of the whole of the Kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia under the empire of Austria?”

Contarini smiled approvingly. “I see that _Signor_ Enjolras knows of the…situation we have with Austrian rule. Until your emperor Napoleon Bonaparte swept through Europe and became an Attila to Venice, this land was the epitome of self-governance. You can understand how ignoble it is for Venice to have been handed over to Austria as part of the spoils of war during the Congress of Vienna, and in a patched together realm at that. Why should we have been treated so poorly while the other duchies of this peninsula were allowed to remain independent?”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Is this a sentiment also shared by many in Venice?”

“The rule of the Kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia is a puppet one at best,” Molin replied. “They have fleeced enough of the peasants into supporting them, but not so many that any effort for independence would be impossible.”

“France no longer adopts the policy of mounting military offensives against other states in an effort to democratize them,” Enjolras pointed out, resting his chin on his knuckles. “On the other hand, if a state should on its own volition be declared a republic, or some part of a state declare itself an independent republic or entity, then France would recognize the people’s rights to sovereignty and liberty.”

Molin nodded slowly. “Then again the French have never really quailed at the Austrians, save when they had one in the royal bed,” he muttered. “I hope you will not misjudge me when I say that I deplore the hundreds, if not thousands of murders at Robespierre’s guillotines, but I also believe that it would never have come to that point if more capable leaders than Louis XVI and his wife Marie-Antoinette had been on the throne.”

“As for me, I maintain that Venice did far better without hereditary kings, emperors or any single office of that sort,” Contarini said even as the door to one of the adjoining rooms opened. He got to his feet as Riva emerged, leading out Brisbois who had hastily thrown on a borrowed dressing gown of over his bare chest. “This is a whole new level of ineptitude! First you are indisposed, and now this slovenliness?” he bellowed.

Brisbois turned beet red but had the decency to look stricken. “I have had a trying day, and have taken some injuries as a result. You have urgent matters to speak of?”

Contarini’s grey eyes narrowed as he looked Brisbois from head to toe. “You have let matters slide far too long without your notice, or shall I say your willing ignorance. You know that we are besieged with the Austrians to the north and within us, and by the Papal States to the south, and still you adopt something worse than neutrality---you are tepid except when it is time for festivities.”

“I am not here to fight your wars of independence, _Signor_ Contarini,” Brisbois said stiffly.

“That is not what we are asking, only that you do not ally with our enemies,” Molin pointed out. “Fine, keep relations with Austria, but must you go as far south as kissing the Pope’s behind?”

“I am only trying to prevent war!”

“You’re allowing the Pope’s agents to infiltrate through Lombardy-Venice, that’s what!”

“ _Signors_ , please,” Riva said, his voice louder and firmer than ever before. “It is not for us to dictate French alliances—but _Signor_ Brisbois also has to adhere to what is proper for diplomats regardless of their origin,” he said, going over to place himself between Brisbois and Molin.

“ _Signor_ Riva has a point,” Contarini said to Molin in an undertone. “But all the same _Signor_ Riva, this subterfuge could spell the doom of our city once more if the French ally with the Papal States,” he added more loudly.

“I can tell you that there is no danger of that,” Enjolras said, firmly pulling Brisbois away from the scene. “The lines between Church and State in France are clear to the point of being strained, and it is in our charter to keep that distinction unblurred,” he added more sternly.

Brisbois scoffed. “Do you understand what it means also for France if we alienate the Pope and the Church?”

‘ _Sometimes it could do with more distance,’_ Enjolras thought as he pushed Brisbois into a chair. “We were talking about how as a principle France no longer engages in conquest for the sake of democracy. In the same light, clericalism and theocracy are not in our charter either,” he said to the three Venetians.

“ _Signor_ Enjolras should know; he helped write that part of the charter’s preamble,” LeClerc informed them even over the sound of footsteps hurrying to the stateroom. “Has something happened?” he asked a footman, who was out of breath and standing in the doorway.

“A lady and two gentlemen here to see _Signor_ Enjolras, very urgently,” the footman said as he wiped his brow with a balled-up handkerchief.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Enjolras said to the diplomats and the Venetians. As he stepped out into the hallway, he saw Eponine rushing up the stairs.

“Antoine, you wouldn’t believe what just happened,” Eponine greeted, clasping both his hands tightly.

“What is it?” Enjolras asked, noticing now how her hands shook. He chafed her wrists and arms as he met her wide eyes. “Where are the others?”

“That’s just the thing, there was a sort of fight in the piazza, and Admiral Calamy got shot,” Eponine began breathlessly. “Combeferre and Citizenness Calamy are helping him now and I sent Jacques and Citizen Lamarre back to the embassy for safety, but we really wouldn’t gotten out of there if it hadn’t been for Joly, Bossuet, and Grantaire—”

Enjolras looked at her incredulously. “Did I hear you right?”

“There goes the surprise!” Courfeyrac called as he and Jehan bounded up the stairs. Courfeyrac flung his arms around Enjolras’ shoulders warmly. “We’re here to bring you home.”

“I do not think it will be possible immediately, my friend,” Enjolras said, clasping Courfeyrac’s shoulder as the latter stepped back. “The situation here in Italy is rather complicated.”

“Well there is no fixed date for all of us to travel back, so we will travel with you for as long as you need or want it,” Courfeyrac insisted gamely. “And before you ask, I had Armand stay with the Pontmercys. They were only too glad to have him for a while.”

“That is good,” Enjolras concurred, relieved to hear this about his godson. He also found himself being pulled into a hug by Jehan. “This is also a surprise, brother.”

“Your sister practically pushed me out of our apartment to go after you and my sister here,” Jehan quipped, glancing from Enjolras to Eponine. “Had Eponine waited a day longer, we might have all gone together.”

“Ah now you’re going to explain it, brother?” Eponine asked.

“Only because we’re all here, and it will probably be better to know it all before we have to meet the ambassador,” Courfeyrac said, indicating two sealed letters he had with him. “After Eponine and Combeferre gave most of us the slip here, Feuilly and Bahorel had a meeting with the Home Office. Gavroche was there too since during one of his patrols he found some papers especially concerning that attache Citizen D’Aramitz. There’s been a lot of passage between France and Italy, and not all of it is simple travel and commerce.”

“You mean to say espionage and subterfuges,” Enjolras concurred.

“Yes, exactly that,” Jehan chimed in. “Well we got to talking about it right away, and Feuilly insisted that some of us have to come here in person as we cannot trust the post anymore especially with men like Citizen D’Aramitz on the prowl. And here we are.”

“What Jehan means actually at first it was simply going to be him since he knows Italian. But you know that these things are better with company, more so with a journalist,” Courfeyrac said.

“That was why Grantaire also decided to come along?” Enjolras asked.

Jehan nodded gleefully. “Well Grantaire said it wouldn’t be nice for just us to have the fun, and we needed someone medical anyway so that’s why he asked for Joly. Of course with that, Bossuet and Musichetta went along. Chetta insisted that she could not possibly stand weeks being the only lady among us, so she asked Nicholine along as well.”

“And I decided to join them to make sure we keep within the bounds of everything proper and legal. Feuilly and Bahorel would have come along, but you know how things are with the Home Office and the Prefecture, so they just made sure we could get here as quickly as possible,” Courfeyrac concluded with a grin.

“And as if that was not complicated enough, there is also an Italian gentleman who wants to speak with you. He’s waiting at the ambassador’s house,” Eponine chimed in. “Did Citizen Brisbois ever mention anything about a man named Giuseppe Mazzini?”

“I do not believe so. What about him?” Enjolras asked.

“Well he was in France a few years ago, and has been living in London as an exile because he’s for the unification of all of Italy,” Eponine explained. “Now he’s back here, and some of his friends were also hurt in that ruckus in the square. I think he’s looking for some answers, and he’s got some important things for us to know too.”

‘ _From a city state to a larger Republic,’_ Enjolras thought even as he heard an outraged shout from the room he had just vacated. “This further complicates matters. For one thing Citizen D’Aramitz was here, but we failed to properly apprehend him.”

Eponine’s jaw dropped. “How?”

“He almost dropped a bookcase on me on his way out, and that erased all progress,” Enjolras replied. He sighed as Eponine winced at this revelation. “He also threw some vitriol onto Ambassador Brisbois, but I surmise that is now the least of his problems.”

“Is that _Signor_ Riva I hear there?” Eponine asked, looking to the door. “He sounds uncommonly angry.”

Enjolras quickly walked back to the stateroom, only to pause at the sight of Brisbois standing on a chair, his dressing gown flapping , as he was shouting down LeClerc as well as Riva, Contarini and Molin. “Citizen Brisbois, you have two more visitors from France,” he said calmly.

Brisbois was red in the face as he looked at Enjolras. “Can you not see I am in the middle of something urgent, Citizen?”

“I think news from the Home Office also counts as urgent,” Enjolras deadpanned, glancing to where Courfeyrac, Jehan and Eponine were now behind him.

“Hopefully that news involves your recall to Paris, you useless creature!” Contarini said furiously to Brisbois.

Courfeyrac whistled as he came forward. “Honorable citizens and _signors_ , I am Maurice Courfeyrac,” he said before making a formal bow and handing over the letters he carried.

Brisbois muttered under his breath as he opened one of the letters, only to have his eyes grow wider and wider as he read through it. “Citizen D’Aramitz is to be arrested? How am I to manage that?” he sputtered.

“By coordinating with our police, and even our border patrols,” Riva said thinly. “That is something that should have been done hours ago, or even yesterday.”

“We all were at your family’s ball,” Brisbois argued.

“That did not take the whole day!”

Molin put his hands akimbo. “Will you stop stalling and just open the second letter?”

Brisbois grumbled once more as he broke the seals on the second missive, but this time he went pale. “This has to be a mistake,” he whispered, falling against the sofa he had been standing on just a few minutes ago. “I cannot be recalled to Paris like this!” he gasped before slumping to the floor in a dead faint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes our new friends Contarini and Molin are among the descendants of the patricians of Venice. Currently those houses are said to be extinct.


	51. From Where Motive Springs

**Chapter 51: From Where Motive Springs**

It took another hour for the doctor to bring Brisbois back to his senses as well as mollify the irate tempers of most of the onlookers just enough for some of the group to transfer to the ambassador’s residence back near the Piazza San Marco. “With everyone there, it only stands to reason that we are moving from firestorm to firestorm,” Jehan remarked as they walked at the head of the group.

Riva, the only Venetian now accompanying them, winced at this. “I hope the events of this afternoon haven’t colored your impression of Venice negatively, _Signor_ Prouvaire.”

“Oh no. I only see its passionate temperament better, which of course have produced many of the works I admire,” the poet reassured him. He looked back at the rest of the group, which consisted of Enjolras, Eponine, Courfeyrac, LeClerc, and a downcast Brisbois; it had been decided that it would be best for Celeste to remain where she was, under the physician’s supervision. “And where are the rest of your friends?”

“ _Signors_ Contarini and Molin have other affairs to discuss,” Riva said. “For now my errand is here, so consider me your good company.”

‘ _And a mysterious one,’_ Eponine noted silently from where she and Enjolras were walking arm in arm. “Is it me, or is _Signor_ Riva suddenly a bit more serious than he was just a night ago?” she asked him in Occitan.

“It could be what he is when there is no merriment afoot,” Enjolras said. “I find it curious that he should suddenly be in the company of two men of consequence, here in Venice.”

‘ _Lamarre did say that Riva was an ally of Brisbois, but who knows what he is to the Venetians themselves,’_ Eponine reflected. She looked to Courfeyrac, who was whistling as he walked. “I never got around to asking, but where are you all staying?” she asked.

“We are borrowing a villa near the Accademia; we were on our way to call on the Ambassador and do some sight seeing when that scene happened in the piazza,” Courfeyrac said. “What about you two?”

“We were billeted at the ambassador’s residence, with Combeferre, Jacques and our friends from the diplomatic corps,” Enjolras replied. “Though that might change when Citizen Brisbois appoints a new officer-in-charge.”

“Ah, I am sure with some adjustments there will be more than enough room for all of you too at our accommodations.”

“What you cannot adjust however is the bathroom situation. After sharing accommodations with some of you over the years, I know better than to expect a livable outcome.”

Eponine snorted, remembering all too well a number of anecdotes from their coterie’s student days. “Either way we probably won’t be in Venice longer than a week more or so. I s’pose we can talk about getting a bigger place for all of us when we go to Tuscany or Rome,” she said as they now neared Brisbois’ residence. 

Waiting to meet this motely group at the door of the house were Grantaire, Bossuet, and Joly. “Greetings, Ambassador Brisbois,” Grantaire greeted, tipping his hat. “I hope we have not imposed ourselves on Venice!”

“Ambassador for now, and not for much longer!” Brisbois cried. “You have come at a terrible time, Citizens, in time to meet my temporary replacement.”

“He is being recalled to Paris,” LeClerc explained to the astonished trio. “Citizen LeClerc here at your service, but for the meantime I must help him settle this transition,” he added before steering Brisbois upstairs.

“Perhaps I should also---” Riva began before his gaze fell on a figure standing in the living room. “What are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be in exile?”

All eyes turned to Giuseppe Mazzini, who was brushing off his coat. “I was, _Signor_ , but urgent matters have brought me back here,” Mazzini said. He looked to Enjolras and Eponine. “I need to speak with them urgently.”

“You may, but first you have some explaining to do,” Riva said before going to remonstrate with the other Italian, beginning by pulling him into the next room.

Eponine winced before looking back at Bossuet, Grantaire, and Joly, who were enthusiastically greeting Enjolras. The sight of her lover back in the company of much-missed friends and almost-family had her smiling, more so when she saw how visibly relaxed Enjolras’ mien now was. She nodded to Joly. “How is Admiral Calamy doing?”

“He lost quite a bit of blood, but we got the bullet out and disinfected the wound. If fever doesn’t set in, he should be up and about in a few days. Combeferre is checking on him now,” Joly replied. “How did you meet such an interesting character, and his wife too?”

“England seems to be half-full of them; the other half is all stuffy ennui,” Eponine quipped. “Did you get any use out of that book I sent you on jet beads and carvings?” she asked Bossuet.

“I am still reading it now, but that has prompted me to head here to learn about the Venetian glass trade,” Bossuet said proudly. “That of course, alongside taking in this city’s wine, art, and song.”

‘ _Perhaps Signor Riva, or his friends can point him a place or two,’_ Eponine thought before going to seek out Victoria. As she arrived on the second floor, she saw Victoria and Combeferre exiting a room, both appearing exhausted but relieved. “I s’pose that’s a good thing?” she greeted.

“He’s resting now,” Combeferre said. “How did your errand go?”

“Far less successful,” Eponine replied wryly. “Antoine is downstairs with Courfeyrac and Jehan. Where is my brother and Citizen Lamarre?”

“I believe they’ve gone to raid the kitchen,” Combeferre quipped before nodding to Victoria. “All will be well,” he reassured her before heading downstairs.

Victoria nodded before quickly hugging Eponine. “Thank you,” the older woman whispered. “If you hadn’t helped Doctor Combeferre get to Peter in time, I don’t know what would have happened to him.”

“I think any of us would have done the same,” Eponine said awkwardly as Victoria stepped away. “I didn’t know you knew a little of surgery.”

“I had to learn when Doctor Maturin and I were on the Surprise. His actual surgeon’s mate, a fellow named Higgins, was not the best hand even on a calm day,” Victoria said. She shakily pulled her hair out of her face. “This is the second time I’ve ever had Peter under my hands this way. I never imagined though it would happen on land.”

‘ _There are a lot of things that we did not think would happen,’_ Eponine thought even as she saw Musichetta and Nicholine peering out from one of the rooms. “I s’pose you have something nice waiting in there?” she asked.

“We were able to get coffee and some exquisite breads,” Musichetta said. “Please you must join us too, Citizenness Calamy,” she told Victoria.

“Yes, I think I need it,” Victoria concurred as she and Eponine followed the two other women into a warm and brightly lit sitting room. “Where did you find all of these?”

“When looking for the best food, always ask the housekeeper,” Nicholine said pertly as they all took seats around a table heaped with rolls and breads filled with cold cuts, cream, and other fillings. A large pot of coffee sat in the middle of this pile. “It’s good to see you, Eponine. I was really worried when we were in Paris that we would be too late.”

“You all talk about what happened in Paris right after Combeferre and I left for here,” Eponine said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “How did it go?”

“Well it was _terrible_ of you not to even call on me and Joly! I only learned that you were there and gone again because Claudine mentioned that she was alone at home with the twins, and because you know how Bahorel is when he and Feuilly are up in their schemes.”

“I did hear something about my brother being involved?”

“Yes, because he was the one who went to Prouvaire when the evidence came out that Citizen D’Aramitz was up to no good,” Nicholine explained, looking up from a roll she was nibbling. “Anyway we all agreed to meet in the Musain, and we were wondering what to do, when Azelma said, ‘ _You really need to go after them, Jehan! They don’t know what they are getting into!’”_

Eponine’s jaw dropped at Nicholine’s near impersonation of Azelma’s tone. “She really said that sort of thing?”

Musichetta nodded gleefully. “Well Jehan said that he would go, and he said that he would feel safer if someone went along. And he said something like ‘ _I need something for poetry, you need something for your articles. What do you say we make a writers’ sojourn of this rescue?’”_

“And I s’pose Grantaire said that he wasn’t going to have all the fun, and that’s why he asked Joly and Bossuet along?”

Musichetta laughed, nearly upsetting her own cup of coffee. “And you know that Patrice and I are long overdue for a vacation of our own. So of course he said he would spirit me off, but we’d have to deal with this whole rescue and diplomacy business first. Now you know how these boys are, and how much I need company. Since Azelma didn’t want to go, Marthe was needed to help Cosette manage the glass business while Bossuet is here, and there was no way that Therese and Leonor would have left Bahorel and Feuilly to come here, Nicholine was the best choice.”

“I still don’t care for the road, but here we are,” Nicholine pointed out. “Anyway when all of that was said and done, it was _Bahorel_ who realized we would need a lawyer to do all the legal things especially with the diplomats. And of course to help if in case we get a bit too much.”

“And that’s why you asked Courfeyrac too,” Eponine concluded, shaking her head as she already pictured how that conversation transpired. She reddened as she caught Victoria’s amused look. “I’m so sorry but we do talk like this frequently.”

“You should have heard me and Mrs. Williamson when we were younger. And with dear Lady Blakeney too,” Victoria said, trailing off wryly. “It was good that we stayed friends, and I think being on land all the time does that; a lot of men do not retain the ties they make when onboard ships. I think that Peter and his friends are among the few exceptions to that.” 

“He will pull through,” Musichetta said to Victoria sympathetically. “A single bullet cannot down a man as strong as that.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Victoria said, finally picking up a large pastry. “Eponine, what is this I hear that you were at a ball last night?”

“Yes, because Citizen Lamarre got invitations from _Signor_ Riva, this young swell fellow who is someone important,” Eponine explained. “I thought he was only important to Citizen Brisbois, but as it turns out he’s got some connections with some older gentlemen here in Venice.”

“Older gentlemen?” Victoria asked querulously.

“I s’pose if I heard them right their names were Contarini and Molin.”

Victoria’s jaw dropped with disbelief. “You really do not know who they are? Especially that _Signor_ Contarini?”

“Someone important, at least by the way you are talking,” Eponine replied.

Victoria set down the food she was eating. “Those two men are from two of the many patrician families of Venice, that is to say the nobility of this city. When Venice was still a republic, the patricians held real power over everything: politics, trade, even social affairs such as marriages. The Molin family is illustrious enough, but the Contarinis are among the oldest families who can claim ancestry all the way back to ancient Rome.”

Eponine’s eyes went wide. “As far back as Julius Caesar?”

“Even further, to the time of Gaius Aurelius Cotta at least a hundred years before,” Victoria said. “There are twelve founding families in Venice: Contarini, Tiepolo, Morosini, Michiel, Badoer, Sanudo, Gradenigo, Memmo, Valier, Dandolo, Polani and Barozzi. Their names carry weight no matter what, even if other newer families to the patriciate also produce their share of doges and other luminaries.”

“I s’pose that the Rivas are part of that patriciate too?” Eponine asked.

Victoria was quiet for a moment as she took a bite of bread and swallowed daintily. “I don’t think so, at least not from what I remember of Venetian patricians. There are so many of them, though not nearly as many as peers of England. I think they might be what you French call _nouveau riche_. Though don’t take my word for it; it’s been many years since I was last in Venice.”

“I’m glad we’ve done away with that sort of stuffiness in France,” Nicholine declared. “Yes, having lords and ladies is grand, but they have all the fun and beautiful things. Now you don’t need to be born of any So-and-So to wear pretty dresses or be in politics.”

“But I heard Combeferre talking, and he said that you were of the peerage too, Citizenness Calamy?” Musichetta asked the Englishwoman.

“I am in the ranking of precedence for gentlewomen, but I do not hold a title,” Victoria pointed out. “Daughters and wives of navy and army officers, or gentlemen entitled to bear arms, are given some precedence, albeit very minimal. My father was a commodore, so that entitled me to be presented at Court and have a place in London society. Since I married Peter when he was already a lieutenant and thus with a rank, I was presented once more in the Court. This allowed me to of course, present my own daughter when she was of age.”

Eponine frowned, remembering her own misadventure at the levee with Prince Albert. “So what happens to women who cannot be presented at court, apart from not being allowed to join events of London society?”

“Well they cannot be officially received in most functions, and they can never marry into the peerage. Those romances of lords marrying their pretty servant girls are merely fantasies,” Victoria said. “As quaint as those stories are, I cannot see what two such different people can possibly have in common.”

‘ _Stranger things have happened,’_ Eponine thought as she picked up another piece of bread to down more ravenously, even as the three other women fell to discussing the impossibilities of the stories in the latest plays and novels. At length, Victoria left to check on Peter, prompting Eponine to also excuse herself. As she headed downstairs in search of Enjolras, she caught sight of Riva making his way to the front door. “You’re already heading home, _Signor_?” she asked him.

“More like I should have, a long time ago,” Riva replied graciously. “It is past eleven in the evening already.”

“I didn’t notice the time flying,” Eponine said. “Is _Signor_ Mazzini still here?”

“He left ahead with _Signor_ Contarini; they will be back tomorrow morning,” Riva replied.

“I didn’t notice that your friend was here; then again it is difficult for things to be heard in a house as big as this,” Eponine said. ‘ _Still it is rather curious that they should meet here,’_ she decided as she surveyed the young man carefully, noting how different he seemed from the jovial figure of more than twenty-four hours ago. “Are you always around such influential folk, _Signor_ Riva?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Well I heard you were Citizen Brisbois’ ally so I thought you’d be a sort of go-between for him. Then today I saw you with two of Venice’s patricians.”

“Venice is not a big city, so no one can afford to have enemies here,” Riva said. “At least no one prudent would do so.”

“That’s true, but I can’t help but think it’s a little odd,” Eponine pointed out. “You’re not a noble yet these two days have had me wondering why you insist being with them so, especially with Venice still being what it is under a puppet kingdom of sorts. And I s’pose they don’t like _Signor_ Mazzini, which was why you talked to him first before letting your friend take over. Are you working with them in some way?”

The young Venetian smiled sheepishly. “You really are as astute as you are said to be, _Signora_ Enjolras. Yes it is true, I had to speak with _Signor_ Mazzini and I like to think that unless _Signor_ Contarini says something otherwise, that there will be another meeting with them as well as you and _Signor_ Enjolras tomorrow.”

“So you are their go-between now?”

“You might say so, bluntly.”

‘ _Which means that these patricians have known of Signor Mazzini being here, maybe even before he was aware of it,’_ Eponine realized. “But what is in it for you to be with the nobles of a Republic that no longer exists?” she asked.

Riva shrugged. “I like to think there will be something beyond this Austrian rule over these parts. At least I’d like to see what my grandfather told me about.”

Eponine paused at this revelation. “Your grandfather?”

The young man nodded. “My grandfather was born in France, and raised by an Italian family there that gave him his surname. But he decided that he was better off making his fortune, or changing his lot if you will, in a place that was not subject to the rule of a king. So he made his way to Venice, settled here, and that is the story of my family. Of course by the time my own parents met, Venice was already under the rule of Napoleon Bonaparte’s empire, so what I know of a Republic is only from his stories, or from reading what happened in France—both in 1789 and of course in the more recent years.”

“And working for the patricians will help with that?”

“It is a common cause we have.”

_‘Perhaps not so much of a dandy of a Venetian after all,’_ Eponine decided. “I am sorry if I sounded rather impetuous. I’ve seen these things happen with us young ones working for Lafayette or other older heroes, and it didn’t always end well,” she explained.

“It is trying, but I like to believe the results are worthwhile,” Riva said before making a deep bow. “The hour is running late, _Signora_. Give my regards to _Signor_ Enjolras, and I will see you both in the morning.”

Eponine nodded as Riva closed the front door leading to the street before turning to look around the front hall. “I s’pose that Antoine is out on the other way then,” she whispered. She could hear the murmured conversation all throughout the house; here she heard her brother talking with Grantaire and Jehan in the kitchen, while elsewhere Brisbois inflicted a litany of his woes upon LeClerc and Combeferre. Yet she found herself drawn towards the silence leading out to the veranda, where she found Enjolras looking out on the still waterway. The flickering half-light from the torches lighting the canal cast his features in a startling chiaroscuro that had her pausing if only to take in this sight. ‘ _Ever the avenging angel, and yet not so,’_ she thought.

Enjolras turned at the sound of Eponine’s footsteps and smiled at her. “It would appear you’ve enjoyed your evening, Eponine.”

“As I always do when our friends have much to talk about,” Eponine said, slipping her arms around him so she could press her cheek to his back. The warmth of his body against hers was comforting, more so when she felt his hands reach up to clasp hers. “And you?”

“A lot of catching up too, though by the time that was all done, our Venetian friends and _Signor_ Mazzini had to take their leave,” Enjolras said. “They will be back in the morning.”

She smiled at the confidence in his voice. “Now if we only could find that horrible Citizen D’Aramitz, it would make our time in Italy so much easier.”

“I will leave Citizen Brisbois, or rather his officer-in-charge to see to that,” he said, turning to face her properly. “In the meantime, we have to be on our guard.”

She sighed deeply as she reached up to rub his shoulders, and then run her hands through his hair even as his hands closed around her waist. “Then again you had to deal with Citizenness Berlioz being hysterical in the next room, so I don’t think it was possible to get much done.”

“There is the chance of still getting some information from her; it is possible she has some of his papers since he left in a hurry,” he said. “That is, if she can be reasoned with.”

“Why, there is a problem with that?”

“One condition she made for her cooperation was that I commit bigamy.”

Eponine stared at Enjolras in disbelief for a moment. “What, you? And how?”

“She was under the impression that Citizen Brisbois could use his power as consul to officiate a marriage civilly,” Enjolras said, shaking his head. “I am not sure where she got the notion it would be as easy as that.”

“Probably some silly romance. Maybe that’s how they are writing them these days.”

“Perish the thought.”

Eponine could only bury her face in his shoulder if only to hide her laughter at the sheer absurdity of the situation that Enjolras had told her of. “With all that you do each day, you have no room for two wives,” she quipped. “There was a time when I thought you wouldn’t have room even for _one_.”

“When was that?”

“About ten years ago, when we first met.”

“You did make a compelling case, Eponine” Enjolras said, looking in her eyes before kissing her forehead. “You still do.”

Eponine could have sworn her toes curled in her shoes at this, even as she reached up to kiss him on the mouth, gently at first till he returned her kiss more passionately such that she felt her knees begin to grow weak. She smiled as she felt his fingers beginning to pull at the pins holding her hair back. “Upstairs now?” she whispered.

“I believe it is about time we did,” Enjolras said with a smirk as he took her hand to lead her to their room.


	52. The Risorgimento

**Chapter 52: The Risorgimento**

Even after all these years, one of the things that always calmed Enjolras down was waking up next to Eponine in the mornings. ‘ _This never gets old,’_ the thought crossed his mind when he opened his eyes to find Eponine’s hair in his face all over again as she was snuggled in his arms, using his completely nude self as a sort of blanket, all the while clasping one of his hands in her sleep. He smiled as he smoothed down the auburn tangle without waking her up, relishing in the steady rhythm of her breathing and the snug fit of her slender fingers between his own. He felt her stir and murmur incoherently against his arm, prompting him to kiss the back of her neck. “It’s morning already, Eponine.”

“Already?” Eponine whispered, moving to snuggle under his chin. “Don’t want to get up.”

“Too tempting,” Enjolras remarked as he began to trace circles on her bare hips. He smirked as she moaned softly and pressed her body even closer to his, prompting him to press a kiss to her ear. “Open your eyes.”

Eponine obliged before pulling his face to hers so she could kiss him. “Were you awake for very long, Antoine?” she asked, smiling against his lips. 

“Not particularly,” he admitted as he resumed untangling her long hair with his fingers. He raised an eyebrow when he saw her look bemusedly at his hand. “Is everything well?”

“I was thinking of having my hair a little shorter, but now I am reconsidering it,” she teased before ruffling his hair in turn. “I like waking up this way, with you.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras said before kissing her again. He smiled when she moaned again and began to trace a line with her hands down his back. Before he could deepen the kiss, he heard a knock on the door. “What is it?” he asked more loudly.

“A certain Italian gentleman expects you both for breakfast!” Grantaire called, his voice still thick from too much wine and too little sleep. “He’s waiting downstairs!”

Enjolras and Eponine exchanged looks of disbelief. “Did any of them even go back to their lodgings last night?” Eponine asked. She rolled her eyes as she heard another knock on the door. “Give us some time to get decent, Capital R!”

‘ _She just really had to say that,’_ Enjolras thought, burying his face in her breasts if only to hide the way he was blushing up to his ears. “I really hope that Nicholine did not hear what you said,” he muttered.

“I am sure she’s there, so that’s why I said it,” Eponine said smugly as she rubbed his shoulders. “I s’pose we should get up anyway, we’ll need to get breakfast after not having much to eat last night.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras concurred before reluctantly letting go of her and getting out of bed. He freshened up quickly with a washcloth and found some clean clothes, noting now the rather hefty pile of laundry that he and Eponine had managed to rack up over several days. ‘ _We’ll need to have all these washed before leaving Venice,’_ he thought as he pulled on his shirt and his trousers. He went to where Eponine had just sponged herself down and was now pulling on her chemise, just to bring over the corset she used most frequently. “Allow me?” he asked.

“Ah yes,” Eponine said with a smile, lifting her hair out of the way. “I did manage on my own in England, but I think you do the knots much better than I can with reaching behind me.”

Enjolras nodded as he helped her into the corset and began tying it together just snugly enough to keep the undergarment in place but not so tightly as to impede Eponine’s breathing. “I’ve never understood why you need these, other than the lines of your dresses,” he remarked.

“Well I am _not_ the same as I was when I was eighteen,” she pointed out, gesturing to her breasts and her waistline. “But I’m glad you don’t mind,” she added, clasping his hands before he stepped back to survey his handiwork.

“I do not see why I should object,” Enjolras said as he put on his waistcoat. He turned to look at Eponine, now fully dressed and already looking through a pile of cravats. “One of the dark ones should do,” he said to her.

Eponine nodded as she picked out a dark blue patterned cravat, and began to tie it around the collar of Enjolras’ shirt. Her fingers deftly worked the cravat into a simple knot that she took care to tie in such a way that it did not dig too much into his neck. “There, now you look dashing,” she said with a grin. “Did I ever tell you that I got to speak with Queen Victoria?”

“I believe you haven’t told me that yet,” Enjolras said, not hiding his surprise. “How did that come about?”

“Some time after I spoke with Prince Albert, she came to Claridge’s in secret, asking to see me,” Eponine explained as she began combing out her hair to pin it up into a knot. “I s’pose if she wasn’t a queen, she might think a little differently. She’s young and stubborn, but it’s just terrible she’s got a husband who likes to have his way just so, and a lot of people who won’t let her act anything other than what tradition requires.”

“For all you know, your conversation may have some impact that no one can quite foresee yet,” he said as he began donning his coat. “I had my talk too with the Regent over at Spain, General Espartero. Since he is a regent, he can only do so much in the span of time given to him, but what he does he would do with much force.”

“That cannot be good.”

“Indeed, especially for his enemies.”

Eponine bit her lip as she worked in a last hairpin and then put on a plain pair of gloves. “I think our biggest problem with that man Signor Mazzini is that he is so secretive. But I s’pose he has to be since he is an exile.”

“It is a complicated situation but not altogether impossible,” Enjolras concurred as he smoothed out his coat. “Now we’d better go downstairs before more of our friends think to wait outside our door.”

Eponine rolled her eyes and laughed even as she clasped his arm while they left their room. Much to their surprise, no one was waiting any more in the corridor, but the sounds of conversation and clattering cutlery could be heard from downstairs. She nodded to someone waiting at the bottom of the staircase. “Good day _Signor_ Mazzini.”

“Good morning to you as well, _Signora_ and _Signor_ Enjolras,” the man named Mazzini greeted. He held out a hand to Enjolras. “I am Giuseppe Mazzini, a lawyer by profession like yourself. I had the pleasure of meeting your wife as well as two of your friends yesterday,” he said.

“It is good to meet you,” Enjolras said, shaking Mazzini’s hand. In the morning light the Italian seemed slighter in his attire but more imposing with his high forehead and unflappable mien. “Will you be joining us for breakfast?” he asked.

“Unfortunately that will not be possible; I must speak with you before I am due to meet with _Signor_ Contarini,” Mazzini said with a slight air of discomfiture. “Do you two have a few moments?”

“We have all morning,” Eponine replied gamely. “You said it was important we know a thing or two before spending another day in Venice?”

Mazzini nodded. “You have certainly heard from others, be they your English acquaintances or even the diplomats here, that I have been living in exile these past years. For all this time I was in London, writing and recouping what I could to rekindle the movements that I believed were crushed. It is likely I would be there still if not for events that forced my hand.”

“Which events were these?” Enjolras asked, motioning for them to go up to the stairwell, where they were less likely to be seen or overhead. “Speak freely.”

“Some of the English peerage and their agents made their way into my mail, intercepting some key communications,” Mazzini explained. “With that, and seeing how events were progressing on the continent, I returned to Italy at my peril, hardly stopping at my hometown of Genoa before proceeding here to Venice.”

“Is there a reason that Venice should hold your interest and not Rome, or perhaps other northern cities such as Milan?”

“Venice has always held some republican sentiment; it is like a seed long-buried and waiting to push a shoot through the hard-packed earth. It also poses a challenge as being among the last hold outs against the sentiments of the _Risorgimento.”_

Enjolras paused at this unfamiliar term. “Please explain further.”

Mazzini sighed deeply. “Clearly that man Brisbois or your compatriots did not brief you properly. I speak of the unification of all of Italy as a republic,” he said.

“Italy meaning to include the entire peninsula, from the kingdoms of Sardinia and Lombardy-Venetia, as far as the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies?” Enjolras clarified.

“That is the goal.”

Eponine bit her lip. “But what will you do about places that don’t see it that way? I think some people want Venice to be a republic onto itself.”

‘ _A difficult proposition,’_ Enjolras could not help thinking; judging by the furrows on Mazzini’s brow it seemed as if the Genoese was of the same mind. “Have you spoken with say, _Signor_ Contarini or even _Signor_ Riva on this matter?” he asked.

“That is exactly why I need to speak with you,” Mazzini said. “I would like to know how it was possible for France to unify distinct duchies and territories under a single republic that has stood for these past ten years, even with the granting of certain autonomies to each territory.”

“I do believe that in any republic larger than a city-state, or encompassing anything more than a small territory, that some measure of autonomy would be necessary,” Enjolras pointed out. “I imagine that it would be the same should this dream of an Italian republic be achieved.”

“That is true, but the danger of such would be in retaining such a separate identity in some states that would undermine any attempts at national unification,” Mazzini said. “This insistence on autonomy is one reason that some factions have proposed a _confederacy_ of states under the leadership of the _Pope_.”

‘ _Another difficult, and even worse proposition,’_ Enjolras thought, fighting to keep a straight face. “That arrangement would not be acceptable to all states. Furthermore, it may further reinforce the inequalities already inherent to the status quo. I do not believe that every state and duchy is as advanced as northeastern Italy is.” 

“If you speak of Sicily and even some of the Papal States, you are correct,” Mazzini said. “Sicily, despite being relatively worse-off economically, is however a place where the spirit of the _Risorgimento_ may first find fruits.”

Eponine looked from one man to another. “I would s’pose that the problem would be in convincing say, Venetians and Sardinians, that they are brothers to the Sicilians and the inhabitants of the Papal States. Otherwise you might find some being pitted against the other to put down the efforts of unification.”

“I do not see that as a danger; the biggest threat is more from the Austrian army’s presence here in the northeast, and the undue influence of the Pope over other countries such as France that might be called upon to suppress a revolution.” Mazzini looked keenly at Enjolras and Eponine. “Considering _Signor_ Brisbois’ track record with letting in agents of the Papal States through to France, I have reason to be concerned for the fate of the unification efforts.”

‘ _Best not to tell him just yet of Citizen Brisbois’ recall,’_ Enjolras decided. “It is not France’s policy to undermine its neighbor states be it through invasion from without or sowing discord from within. As for _Signor_ Brisbois’ actions, they will have to be dealt with through the proper channels,” he said after a moment. “That aside, is foreign influence the only threat you see for this cause?”

“The recalcitrance of leaders to accept even individual constitutions within their own states is also a point of contention. Having democratic states, each with a constitution, under a confederacy is a moderate solution, albeit inadequate.” Mazzini sighed once again. “I see that neither of you do not see much hope for this _Risorgimento_?”

“If you mean for it to succeed immediately, within the year, then in a logical sense the chances are slim. There are many jealousies to overcome, and more leaders must be given the opportunity to see the logic in unification,” Enjolras said, looking at Mazzini earnestly before touching his shoulder firmly. “Yet with the fervor and truth of your cause, I have no doubt that eventually it will succeed.”

“In our lifetimes perhaps. I wish my friend _Signor_ Garibaldi were here; you would be impressed with him,” Mazzini said a little more wistfully. “And what do you think, _Signora_?” he asked Eponine.

Eponine nodded slowly. “If you can convince all of Italy that they are stronger together instead of being picked apart by the neighbors, then I s’pose you can have a republic, or at least something leading up to it soon enough. Who is this Garibaldi fellow anyhow?”

“A fellow exile, only that he headed to South America,” Mazzini replied. “It would be far better for the unification of Italy if Italian women were as emancipated as Frenchwomen. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting various women thinkers and doers, but the system you have in France is a step towards progress, as incomplete as it is presently.”

“What do you mean by incomplete?” Eponine asked.

“To my knowledge France has yet to have its first woman lawyers and representatives who can help make legislation and directives apart from citizens’ initiatives.”

“I think that would take years, maybe more than our lifetimes, for that to actually happen, _Signor_ Mazzini.”

“Perhaps sooner; my wife and our friends are making some headway in the admission of women to higher education,” Enjolras commented. “These are of course building on the ground gained by a charter that allowed for citizens and citizennesses to both exercise the rights of suffrage and enjoy the same civil rights and duties.”

Mazzini smiled and nodded before glancing towards the sound of conversation from below. “This has been rather reassuring, _Signor_ and _Signora_ Enjolras. I apologize for keeping you from your breakfast. Hopefully we will meet again soon,” he said before heading back downstairs.

‘ _He has a lot of work to do to make that dream a reality,’_ Enjolras mused as he heard the front door open and close. He touched Eponine’s hand on seeing her now thoughtful expression. “What are you thinking of?”

“It might sound a little strange, but what if _Signor_ Riva might be _Signor_ Mazzini’s key to winning over Venice?” Eponine asked, smiling a little amusedly.

“Riva, as in our friend Giovanni Riva?”

“Yes, unless there is another here in Venice?”

Enjolras’ eyebrows shot up especially at the memory of Riva’s conduct at the ball just two night ago. “He does have connections to some influential persons. I did learn from others here over dinner that _Signor_ Contarini is from a founding family here in Venice.”

“While _Signor_ Molin is also someone of consequence, and that’s good, but they’re stuck in their ways, Antoine.” Eponine’s eyes were bright with a knowing look as she looked at him. “I got to speak with him last night, and he said that he would like to see Venice at least be free from Austrian rule. I don’t know if he would so insist on Venice being a republic on its own, but what I am certain is that he has read of what has happened in France.”

“Do you mean to suggest that he could perhaps be a sympathizer to the cause of unification?” Enjolras clarified.

“Maybe some time soon, if he isn’t one already in secret,” Eponine replied. “Did you notice him pulling _Signor_ Mazzini aside yesterday when we arrived?”

Enjolras nodded, remembering the scene that had transpired upon their return to Brisbois’ house. “I was under the impression that the discussion would be acrimonious.”

“The fact remains that he preferred to talk to _Signor_ Mazzini instead of directly calling the authorities, which is what some people would have done on seeing an exile,” Eponine pointed out. “Besides he is no patrician. His grandfather was born in France and was raised by an Italian family, but he came to Italy before Venice fell to Napoleon.”

“Perhaps some relation to a patriot, or someone who frequented the salons,” Enjolras mused aloud. ‘ _And worth looking into,’_ he decided quietly before kissing Eponine’s hand and going with her to breakfast.

When they arrived in the breakfast room, nearly everyone in their motely party was present with the notable absences of Admiral Calamy and Ambassador Brisbois. “Citizen Brisbois has taken to his bed from a sudden nervous prostration,” Combeferre informed the newcomers, barely hiding his irritated tone.

“What does he think he is, some fainting young debutante?” Victoria said scornfully. “If his constitution is that delicate, it is right that he shouldn’t have an overseas posting.”

“Actually no such thing exists in France, be it among men or women,” Musichetta declared, wiping her mouth daintily before leaning into Joly, who was next to her. “I like to believe it is all the wine we drink that gives us fortitude.”

“Which would account for some of the foolhardiness seen here over the past days, both French and Italian,” LeClerc muttered darkly from behind his cup of coffee.

‘ _It is clear that Brisbois is procrastinating on readying his officer-in-charge,’_ Enjolras thought as he poured some coffee for himself and Eponine. As he expected, most of their group looked a little worse for wear due to lack of sleep, but still merry especially when Courfeyrac launched into a vivid retelling of some anecdote of a mishap on the road. ‘ _With a notable exception,’_ he realized, seeing Jacques nearly fall asleep atop a loaf of bread. “Will you need to rest?”

“You need to have a word with this one. He was up writing again,” Grantaire quipped, idly tugging on one of Nicholine’s curls.

‘ _To who this time?’_ Enjolras thought, reaching over to shake Jacques awake. “Now is not the time for this,” he warned.

Jacques yawned. “I wasn’t writing letters, I was writing poems.” He cringed when he caught Enjolras’ reproving look. “To no one in particular, I swear!”

‘ _We shall see,’_ Enjolras thought as he settled back down to continue his repast amid the lively conversation of everyone present. At length he saw a servant come in with a message for Combeferre and Joly, who both excused themselves. ‘ _Something medical,’_ he realized when the two physicians did not return after a few minutes.

After quickly finishing his meal, which consisted of coffee and a single pastry, he excused himself to find Combeferre and Joly conferring in the hallway. “Is something the matter?” he asked them worriedly.

“It is about another patient referred to us by a certain _Signor_ Gregori, a doctor here in Venice,” Combeferre said. “Citizenness Berlioz, who supposedly has a case of hysteria after an untoward incident yesterday?”

“Yes, that is delicately putting it,” Enjolras deadpanned. “What about her?”

“Well _Signor_ Gregori does not think it would be best for the lady to stay in Venice for too long; she would deteriorate if shut up here. It might be best to send her home to France,” Joly said. “She can travel in Citizen Brisbois’ company.”

“Not just the two of them alone; they will both need to be attended by a retinue,” Enjolras pointed out. It was all he could do to keep a straight face as he thought back on what probably transpired between Celeste and D’Aramitz en route out of Spain. “I am sure that the embassy can arrange that; Citizen LeClerc may be of assistance.”

“Yet another worry for him,” Combeferre said. He turned at the sound of the front door opening. “Ah, you are early again, _Signor_ Riva.”

“Rather late; I heard from _Signor_ Mazzini that he was already here this morning,” Riva said, stepping into the house to make way for Mazzini as well as Contarini, Molin, and eight other gentlemen to enter the wide front room. “Joining us today are _Signors_ Dandolo, Michiel, Ruzzini, Vendramin, Zustinian, Erizzo, Cavalli, and Barbarigo,” the young man added, nodding in turn to their other companions.

“It is an honor to meet you all,” Enjolras said, shaking the hands of each of the patricians in turn. He looked to Combeferre and nodded. “Please call LeClerc,” he mouthed in Occitan before looking to the newcomers once again. “To what do we owe this visit?”

“We’d like to know how the French embassy shall proceed regarding the situation with the rogue agent _Signor_ D’Aramitz---not to mention others in the past,” Contarini said. “Has _Signor_ Brisbois named his officer-in-charge yet?”

“ _Signor_ LeClerc would be in a better position to answer that,” Enjolras replied, seeing the diplomat now emerging from the breakfast room. He nodded confidently to LeClerc, seeing how the latter turned pale at the sight of so many Venetian patricians. “Has there been any news?”

“ _Signor_ Brisbois is still in the process of handing off his duties to one of his attaches, _Signor_ Monteil,” LeClerc replied calmly. “As for the traitor _Signor_ D’Aramitz, I have already dispatched letters to the other embassies on the peninsula, asking them to make the necessary arrangements for his arrest should he seek refuge there.”

“Indeed, since he is believed to no longer be in Venice,” Contarini grumbled. “I would rather that it was you or _Signor_ Enjolras taking over the embassy here.”

“That is not for us to decide,” Enjolras reminded him. ‘ _After all we still have our journeys to Florence and Rome, which might also shed light on this mystery,’_ he thought. “Is that the only concern that brings you all here?”

“I need your help explaining why Venice would do well to unite under a single Italian flag instead of its former one,” Mazzini said in an undertone.

“I do not see why the French should support this _Risorgimento,_ when they will not support any attempt to liberate Venetia and Lombardy from Austrian rule,” Molin replied, glowering at Mazzini. “Yours is a mad proposition.”

“It isn’t the French policy to ally with _any_ state to overthrow it from within,” LeClerc argued. “I thought this was clear from our previous discussions all through last night.”

“We would prefer a categorical statement that France will not ally either with the Papal States,” the patrician named Michiel said. “Otherwise we may have both Austria and France moving through Italy to crush revolts as they did in 1831.”

“I think it would be best to wait for _Signor_ Monteil to fully assume his duties here before asking for that,” LeClerc replied hotly. “This discussion is redundant.”

“Not entirely; I do see _Signor_ Michiel’s point,” Riva chimed in. “I know, it is too much to hope that France will extend any particular friendship to Venetia unless it is to retake Lombardy---which I know to no longer be possible. But to support a unified Italy, under a republic no less!”

“If you refer to sending men and resources to support an armed movement, or to otherwise seed republican groups, then our Home Office has a clear policy against that. We however cannot control what our citizens do in their own capacity on your soil, but there are, I understand, clear proceedings for those sorts of events,” Enjolras said firmly. “However, when such a unification should occur and be legitimized by the Italian people themselves, then France will be obliged to consider the recognition of this new state.”

Mazzini’s eyes widened even as the patricians began to murmur and discuss among themselves. “You speak of unification as an inevitable matter, _Signor_ Enjolras,” another patrician, Dandolo, chimed in. “What gives you that impression?”

“The fact that the Papal States are sending out agents, feelers if you will, into other countries may be a sign of a need to consolidate power. It will not be long till other states and empires will do the same thing. Will the relative freedoms you enjoy in Venice be safeguarded should the Austrian Empire decide on a more stringent rule such as, hypothetically, the annexation of Lombardy-Venetia?” Enjolras asked. The silent tension these words produced was palpable, so he allowed himself a moment before continuing. “When you are caught between the hammer that is Austria and the anvil that is the Papal States, where will you be?”

“I should hope neither, considering the fate of what was once the Holy Roman Empire now broken apart,” Contarini said, blanching slightly. “And you believe that joining Venice to Italy as a whole should be an escape?”

“Only you can assess that for yourselves, but I will present you some points to consider,” Enjolras said, looking the elderly patrician in the eye. “Venice at present is diminished from what it once was; the ambition to remain an independent republic onto itself cannot be readily realized even if the Austrian rule should be ended from within here. What force can Venice exert to prevent its being reconquered?”

“We _had_ a navy,” the patrician Errizo said. “My own family fought fiercely to prevent Venice from being taken by the French. That sort of strength seems to have vanished.”

“Therefore one of the more sensible recourses would be to ally with one’s neighbors if it is a matter of standing independent from Austrian rule,” Riva thought aloud. “Venice is on good terms with the other cities of Lombardy-Venetia such as Milan and Genoa, and we can count too on the Kingdom of Sardinia and perhaps as well the Duchies of Tuscany and Modena.”

“Indeed, and an alliance with all of these as well as Sicily would put up a united front against the Papal States, which would appear to be the strongest opposition to much reform at present,” Enjolras concurred.

“An alliance to end in a confederacy?” Mazzini asked distastefully.

“If necessary, yes,” Ruzzini advised. “Such lines can be redrawn later.”

‘ _And hopefully in favor of a united constitution for all of Italy,’_ Enjolras thought, nodding to Mazzini before speaking again. “I do believe that as one of the longest-standing republics of Europe, Venice would have much to offer to the other territories of Italy. The adoption and adaptation of constitutions is one of these.”

“Bah, offer that to the Sicilians,” Contarini said, shaking his head. “Venice will always be Venice, _Risorgimento_ or not. Why should we sully ourselves by mixing with the rest of Italy?”

“To join in fraternity with others who also desire liberty and the same rights you cherish here is hardly diminishing what Venice is. You can see for yourself how the territories of France were not reduced in right or importance by allying with Paris,” Enjolras replied, his voice now impassioned as he looked from Contarini to the rest of the patricians. “Standing united with the rest of Italy will allow Venice to keep its place alongside the other cities, and perhaps even reverse its diminution as it upholds once again the self-rule and liberties that were once its legacy to all of Europe.”

“And I would rather have Venice be run by free men instead of the clergy and the Pope who care only for their earthly power and not for the people,” Riva concurred amid the murmuring of the other patricians. “That in itself would not be ignoble.”

Enjolras looked to LeClerc and Mazzini; the former appeared visibly relieved while a new light was now in Mazzini’s eyes as he answered questions from some of the other patricians. “We have to keep a note of these for Citizen Monteil when he arrives for his briefing,” Enjolras said to LeClerc.

“I should say he would be very pleased,” LeClerc said with a grin. “He’s one of your sincerest admirers, has been for some years now, and would be glad to hear that it won’t be up to him to spark off what a lot of us been wanting to see here for a while in Venice!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Risorgimento was the catch-all phrase for a lot of art, literature and politics surrounding the Italian unification movement. 
> 
> And yes, Venice was one of the last hold outs against the Risorgimento. In actual history it would take a few more decades till Venice was ceded by the Austrians to France, who ceded it to a now united Italy which was now a monarchy. Which wasn't what Mazzini really wanted.


	53. The Places We Are Born To

**Chapter 53: The Places We are Born To**

_June 14, 1842_

_Venice, Italy_

_My dear sister Azelma,_

_I hope this letter finds you and Maximillien well and much less worried, and I am sorry if my very mysterious letter from days ago upset you. Now that the embassy’s new officer-in-charge has worked out a way to protect the post, I can write more freely._

_Jehan has certainly told you by now that he and our friends have all arrived safe and sound here in Venice. As for those of us who were here first, meaning myself, Antoine, Jacques, and Combeferre, we have managed our difficulties well enough with their help as well as some unlooked-for coincidences. It is just as well that Antoine has managed to make new friends and allies here in Venice, such that I am sure that we will have no end of visitors to Paris when circumstances permit favors to be returned._

_I have sent you many a sketch of beautiful buildings and dresses, so I will now give you a sketch of sorts of the people here. Venice is not what is used to be, nothing like the paintings and depictions in the old operas. For a more truthful, even if romanticized view of it, I refer you to Lord Byron’s work. What has not changed however is the particular nature of Venetians; they are curiously full of intrigues and yet live with a certain air of style that would, if put in a bottle, be an elixir of immortality and romance. It is very heady and admittedly all-consuming except for two contradictions: firstly their old nobility, the patricians, are long out of power now but they wield far more influence than the former nobles of France. Secondly their craftsmen still are proud, even if the trade has diminished mainly to small glassworks and beads. But for all we know these might make Venice quite something again to rival Paris and the other great capitals of Europe._

_I am still waiting for your stories about how things have transpired in Paris, especially on the 5 th and 6th of June. Who did read Jehan’s poem, if he was headed here to Venice on that day? Please send me your reply addressed to the consul at Florence in Tuscany. _

_With all fondness,_

_Eponine_

After setting this letter to dry among several others on the table, Eponine returned to the task of packing for the trip to Florence. “It’s a good thing that Antoine didn’t think to bring too many things,” she noted as she took stock of Enjolras’ clean clothes now folded neatly on their bed. She frowned on seeing some of the hems and seams coming apart in the collars and cuffs of his shirts and coats. ‘ _I’ll have to take time to turn and stitch these up soon,’_ she told herself as she carefully put the clothes in Enjolras’ valise and then set to folding and packing her own garments. Once this was done, she sealed all the dried missives on the table and then carried them out of the room to be posted from downstairs.

As she walked to the stairs, she heard a door open in the hall. “Eponine, do you have a minute?” Victoria asked, peering out of her own quarters.

“More than one, actually,” Eponine quipped. “How are you and the Admiral this morning?”

“Very well,” Victoria said, admitting Eponine into the guestroom, which was airy and clean for the benefit of the still convalescent Admiral. Today, he was sitting up in bed, and already experimentally moving his arm, earning him a reproving look from Victoria. “What did Doctors Combeferre and Joly say about keeping your stitches intact?” Victoria warned him.

“They will hold, I am sure,” Admiral Calamy retorted. He nodded to Eponine more convivially. “From what I have been overhearing these past days, it sounds like your coterie has gotten Venice in an uproar.”

“It’s only a little talk about politics,” Eponine replied with a smile. “I’m sorry that you and Mrs. Calamy won’t be able to join us in Florence. I’ve heard wonderful things about Tuscany.”

“We’ve been there,” Victoria said. “What is certain is that we will all rendezvous in Rome. As soon as Peter is well enough to travel, we will ride for there. I think either Doctor Combeferre or Doctor Joly will stay behind to travel with us, if I am correct?”

“I don’t think that question has been settled yet,” Eponine said, trying not to sound morose at the idea of one or more of her friends being unable to see the famed Tuscan countryside. “But I’m sure that you at least will have more things to do here in Venice for a few more days.”

“Mostly verifying the rumors of English involvement, and seeing to that breach concerning Mazzini’s correspondence being opened.”

“Do you think all of this had something to do with Lord Griffiths suddenly acting mysterious during the Season and mentioning that place in Clerkenwell?”

Victoria shrugged. “It would be uncharacteristic of him to suddenly do so; he is primarily concerned with affairs at home. But yes, I cannot leave that stone unturned.” The older woman’s expression was grim as she looked at Eponine again. “Now that you have thrown your lot in with these Italian liberals, you have made yourself a marked woman. It will only get more difficult for you from here.”

“All the more reason for us to finish up quickly in Rome, and head safely back to France,” Eponine replied. “You two will be fine here though?”

“I daresay we are safer than the rest of you,” Admiral Calamy said. “Good luck to you all in Florence and in Rome.”

‘ _He’s probably making light of it since he will be abed for a few more days,’_ Eponine mused before taking her leave of the English couple. Even before she was on the stairwell she could already hear laughter and conversation coming from different rooms on the first floor where nearly everyone else in the household was receiving other guests or otherwise amusing themselves. She burst out laughing at the sight of Bossuet half-skipping across the front hall, carrying what appeared to be a diplomatic mailbag. “You would make quite the courier,” Eponine quipped as she dropped the letters she carried into the packet.

Bossuet bowed jokingly. “These letters will have to do the travelling for me, at least for the next few days.”

Eponine smiled wryly. “Are you so sure you want to stay here in Venice a little longer?”

“I did promise Pontmercy that I would come back with some more insight on glassworks” Bossuet said. “Besides we have just decided that Joly will stay to attend Admiral Calamy; naturally Musichetta will also join us, and that rounds out our merry company unless either Grantaire or Nicholine care to tarry as well.”

“Well we may get the beautiful countryside; I am sure that Jehan will make a verse about it, but you will have the Venetian arts and amusements,” Eponine pointed out. She turned at the sight of the living room door opening to let out a large crowd of men which included Enjolras, Jacques, LeClerc, Mazzini, Riva, and some more Venetian patricians. Bringing up the rear of this group was the French embassy’s new officer in charge, Pierre Monteil.

Monteil quickly broke off from this group and nodded to Eponine as he approached her and Bossuet. “I am glad you have joined us now, Citizenness Enjolras. Are you finished with your preparations for your trip?” he greeted her warmly.

“Nearly; I only have to pack some personal effects,” Eponine replied, even as she threw a sidelong glance to Enjolras, who was speaking with the patrician Contarini and a few others. Eponine smiled as she looked back at Monteil. “And how did your meeting go?”

“Better than I imagined; if it wouldn’t cause a stir in Paris, I’d ask your husband to move here as a consultant on laws and foreign relations,” Monteil said. He nodded to Bossuet. “Have you collected all the letters?”

“I have them here,” Bossuet said, holding out the mail bag. “Pray, instruct me as to your postal system.”

Monteil laughed before slinging an arm around Bossuet’s shoulders to lead him to a side room, clearly to explain the new arrangements for the mail to be sent back to France. The sight of this made Eponine grin, more so when she saw how at ease the rest of the room seemed to be. ‘ _I’d take a man of his straightforward energy over Brisbois’ flamboyance,’_ she thought even as she saw Mazzini now walking up to her after bidding goodbye to some of the patricians.

Mazzini bowed cordially to her. “Your presence was missed at the meeting, _Signora_.”

“When I go to Rome, I must do as the Romans do, and that is true here in Venice—that is not to join such discussions unless the patricians say I may,” Eponine said wryly. “Even if my husband, as well as you and other friends insist.”

“Ah yes, tact,” Mazzini concurred. His smile was warmer when he looked her in the eye. “I had never thought that I would be able to readily have a discussion with them, at this point. For that you and your husband have my thanks.”

‘ _His ideas may have won out in the end, and perhaps we just made it happen faster,’_ Eponine thought. “How long will you be staying in Venice?” he asked.

“A few more days, then I shall head to Milan. They will be gladdened to hear what has transpired here,” Mazzini said. “In time, I also hope to hear heartening news from the rest of Italy.”

‘ _From who?’_ Eponine wondered, now glancing to the now thinned out group in the front hall. Jacques had already headed upstairs while LeClerc had drawn Riva into a discussion, heedless of Contarini standing nearby while seeing off one of his younger compatriots. ‘ _Surely not one of our own diplomats,’_ she could not help thinking as Mazzini left to bid the group goodbye, saving some more parting words for Enjolras before heading out the door.

At length Contarini patted Riva’s shoulder in an almost fatherly way. “You’d better spend the rest of the day with your mother. It would ease her care very much,” the patrician said to the younger man. He waited for Riva to leave before looking at Eponine, Enjolras, and LeClerc with a serious yet bemused expression. “I have asked that young _Signor_ Riva join your travels as far as Rome. The matter is political since it is connected to how Venice will relate to Rome in light of this _Risorgimento,_ but there is also something you must know about it that I will charge you to keep secret even from him,” Contarini said.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “That would be unseemly for a traveling companion.”

“It would be even more unseemly for him to know that this is a…test of sorts,” Contarini said. He glanced to the front door. “As _Signor_ Enjolras and _Signor_ LeClerc already know, one of the patricians present here was of the Mocenigo family, a family that has produced several of Venice’s doges and leaders. _Signor_ Mocenigo himself was a career diplomat and has some important leads throughout Italy as well as the Austrian empire. His mother, the older Madame Mocenigo, is descended from one of the founding families of Venice, and is among those who still carry the old style and grace of the Venetian republic. Were you staying longer in Venice and were she less occupied, I’d insist you call on her. The two of them have taken an interest in this affair, at least a cautious one that may blossom if _Signor_ Riva succeeds with what he is to do in Florence and Rome,” the patrician explained.

“And is _Signor_ Riva aware of this?” Eponine asked.

“No, and it is important that he does not, not yet.”

“Why is that so?”

Contarini’s smile grew even more bemused. “Perhaps you have not had the chance to observe it more closely, but _Signor_ Riva bears a stunning resemblance to some of the Venetian patricians. His looks, his bearing, even his wits remind me very much of a diplomat and statesman I respected and aspired to emulate in my younger years before the fall of Venice.”

“This is a test to see if he carries some element from this purported ancestor of his?” Enjolras asked. “Surely a proper genealogy would be a more efficient way of resolving this.”

“The registers and thus the genealogies of Venice are prone to change and even corruption. Besides as _Signor_ Riva himself might have told you, his grandfather was not born in Venice, but in France.” Contarini paused for a moment. “However, I believe that his grandfather was the son—an illegitimate one, but a son nevertheless—of this particular patrician.”

“The oldest _Signor_ Riva, that is to say our friend’s grandfather, has been dead for some years now,” LeClerc pointed out. “And to what end will it be if young Riva passes the test?”

“That remains to be seen in the future,” Contarini said, now donning his hat. “Even if this test was not in our plans, I would insist on him joining you. He needs to see more of the world and be away from his family’s excessive coddling and frivolity.”

LeClerc nodded slowly. “This will be easier without _Signor_ Brisbois’ influence.”

“That it shall. I thank you for your accommodation, _Signors_ and _Signora,”_ Contarini said before quickly exiting the room.

Eponine gaped after the departing patrician. “What cheek! He didn’t even give us the chance to refuse. I know, I like _Signor_ Riva enough but is this proper?”

“It is a delicate business, but if his patrimony is ascertained it may open doors for him and the _Risorgimento_ ,” LeClerc pointed out.

“I take that you have your own guesses as to what his origins really are?” Enjolras enquired.

“I cannot be sure; these patrician families marry and intermarry, and it is not unheard of to have illegitimate and cast-off children hidden in other families or even in other countries,” LeClerc answered. “Whoever it is though is known to the Mocenigos, hence the interest.”

“Maybe we should ask _Signor_ Riva to stand under some portraits so we can see which one looks most like him,” Eponine quipped even as the front door suddenly opened. As she caught sight of who had just arrived, she felt as if a weight had just landed in her stomach. “What is she doing here?” she asked in an undertone.

“Citizenness Berlioz is here as part of the deportation procedures,” Lamarre replied stoically, glancing at the woman with him. “She will leave with Citizen Brisbois tomorrow morning as well, and head straight back to France.”

‘ _What a godforsaken pair,’_ Eponine could not help thinking, more so when she got a better look at Celeste. The older woman seemed worn and haggard, even with freshly applied rouge on her cheeks. Her purple dress was rumpled, as if it had been slept in over the past few days, and a tired look hung about her eyes. “Excuse me for a moment,” she muttered, turning to leave.

“Actually I’d like to speak with you in particular,” Celeste said, looking at Eponine. “Alone. I don’t need you gentlemen to hear this.”

“You aren’t in a position to make demands, Citizenness,” Enjolras said sharply. “If you have something to say to my wife, I am sure you can say it in our hearing.”

“These are ladies’ affairs,” Celeste argued. “Something you would not understand.”

“I will at least inform Citizen Monteil that Citizenness Berlioz is here,” Lamarre said tiredly before going to the side room.

“I’ll go with you. Citizen Enjolras?” LeClerc asked.

“I s’pose I’ll be fine if we stay right here,” Eponine said to Enjolras. ‘ _Besides knowing you, you will just be in the next room listening in,’_ she thought even as she exchanged a knowing look with her husband before he quitted the room in turn.

Celeste looked down even as Enjolras shut the door to the living room, and only then raised her eyes to look Eponine in the face. “I see the way that he looks at you. You don’t know how many women in Aix would have killed to have him look at any one of them even just with half of that,” she said at length.

“I have been to Aix, and a number of your neighbors have told me of that fact. Just maybe not so boldly as you have just now,” Eponine pointed out, crossing her arms.

“You don’t understand,” Celeste said with a deep sigh. “Enjolras was….is the best of many of us to ever be born in or come out of Aix. He was among the most eligible, if not _the_ most eligible of the bachelors in our social set.”

“And I s’pose that gave you the idea that he _should_ be yours?”

“What woman did not have that idea or that hope? It was what was supposed to happen, by all rights.”

Eponine paused at this. “Supposed to happen? Who is making those silly sorts of rules?”

“It’s just what a lot of us ladies wanted to happen, because it was the best possible match,” Celeste argued, throwing up her hands in the air. “You can imagine the shock it was when everyone heard that you were in the picture and that you and Enjolras were attached.”

“It was definitely a shock, but the problem is your insisting on it even when we’ve been nine years married. Nine years with three children, a proper home in Paris, and many other great things he has been doing and will still do.” Eponine shook her head as Celeste looked down again. “Do you really expect him to give all of that up?”

Celeste was quiet for a long moment, and it seemed for a moment as if these words physically weighed on her. “All of that should have, or could have been mine,” she whispered.

“I don’t see why you cannot have it with someone else. There are other men in Aix,” Eponine said, putting her hands akimbo.

“That would be less than what is expected of me and my station. You don’t understand, you’re Parisian. People talk in a city that is as small as Aix,” Celeste said, shaking her head vehemently. “And even if I didn’t care, who would possibly have me? I’m already past thirty. It’s easy for you to say since you are so young.”

‘ _Not so young, I’m not that far from being thirty myself,’_ Eponine thought as she bit her lip. Even so, she could not help feeling a little sorry for the obviously dejected woman she was speaking to. ‘ _Like she’s been watching one thing only to let everything else pass her by,’_ she realized.

Celeste swallowed hard before speaking again. “What did you do that made him decide to stay in Paris?”

“It wasn’t my doing,” Eponine replied. Visions of their former residence at a tenement in Paris and of nights spent dreaming in ink and candlelight now rose to her waking eyes. “He had a choice whether to run for the legislature in Paris or in Aix. He chose to stay in Paris because of some good he believed he would do there. And everything else just quickly happened from there.”

Celeste nodded slowly, as if some understanding was now finally dawning on her. “I wish I had known that earlier. I was told all this while that it was your doing that made him stay.”

“If he’d decided to go back to Aix, I wouldn’t have had anything to say to it. Not then. It was not my place,” Eponine said wryly. She bit her lip again when she saw Celeste take a deep breath. “I s’pose you would need time to think things over now that you know more.”

“Do I have time?” Celeste asked bitterly. “Who would have me now?”

“I don’t always think it has to end that way,” Eponine pointed out.

“What, you’d advise I shut myself up in a convent?”

“That’s going a bit too far, but I s’pose I could tell you more about women who’ve lived well even by themselves.”

Celeste made a ‘hmph’ sound, but her hesitation was still apparent. “Maybe that will be possible if I do not die of shame first. Why did I ever listen to that Citizen D’Aramitz?”

“He promised you a thing or two, didn’t he?” Eponine pressed on.

“He said he’d keep everything that happened in Spain off the record, but that’s not possible now with what’s happened here in Venice,” Celeste said, no longer hiding her distaste. She drew a few papers out of her bosom and cast them down onto the floor at Eponine’s feet. “Take them for what they are worth. I do not expect the new officer in charge here to be as forgiving as the outgoing ambassador.”

Eponine quickly picked up the papers, frowning on seeing that they contained the seal of the diplomatic corps’ Home Office. “If these can help us, then perhaps Citizen Monteil---” she began.

Celeste shook her head and held out her hand. “No. I go to meet my fate. Goodbye Madame Enjolras,” she said before walking to Monteil’s new office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Mocenigos were also a powerful family in Venice. You can read more about them in Andrea di Robilant's book "Lucia: A Venetian Life in the Age of Napoleon.


	54. Tuscany

**Chapter 54: Tuscany**

Enjolras could not help but feel that after the flash and frenzy of his days in Venice, the 3-day trip to Florence was like falling back into a dream. “It does not help that the scenery here shares many similarities with that of Provence,” he remarked to Eponine as they were seated atop one of the two large coaches that comprised their motley convoy through the lush countryside.

“It’s just as healthful, I s’pose, except maybe a bit warmer, which is good for all of us. I’m sad that Nicholine elected at the last minute to stay in Venice to help Musichetta and let Grantaire proceed on his own with us,” Eponine said as she rolled up her sleeves.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at the mention of this debacle. “Why was that the case?”

“She wants to look at finery, but Grantaire insisted on his artistic and literary pursuits in the country. I think they’ll have it out between them soon enough,” Eponine replied. She looked over her shoulder at the second carriage, where Grantaire and Jehan were waving from their perch on the roof. “I’m glad to have so much more of the sun out here; I didn’t get enough of it when we were in England. I never saw myself so pale before,” she whispered.

“Was it due to the work or because of the weather being foul?”

“A bit of both. Besides, we didn’t get to be away from London at all, except going to and from Dover!”

“Then it is good that you shall have your fill and more here,” Enjolras said as he loosened his cravat slightly. He glanced back towards his friends seated on top of the other carriage, only to be greeted by the sight of Grantaire and Jehan shamelessly taking off their shirts. ‘ _That is a bit much,’_ he thought as he shook his head and looked forward once again. The clear summer day offered him a splendid view of gently rolling hills covered with grass and wildflowers, bordering well-kept fields and vineyards. Stately cypress trees that almost seemed to be trimmed into topiaries lined the roads leading up to villas and villages. He looked at Eponine, who was now basking under the sun, with her eyes closed. The midmorning light made her long auburn hair seem even more lustrous and banished the last traces of the pallor she had spoken about, such that it was all that Enjolras could do not to disturb her by running a finger over her cheeks or through her tresses. Instead he settled for clasping her hand, relishing the way she curled her fingers around his.

Suddenly a tapping came from inside the carriage. “Are we there yet?” Jacques asked, poking his head out the window.

“Once we get past these hills, we should already be there. It won’t be for some hours yet,” Enjolras reasoned.

“Do I get to sit outside?”

“You had your turn earlier this morning. Go ask the others.”

Jacques pouted. “Combeferre is reading and Courfeyrac is sleeping. And it’s stuffy in here.”

“We’re not stopping the carriage just for us to switch seats. You can open the windows while you wait your turn,” Eponine retorted, earning her a scowl from Jacques. She stuck out her tongue at him before he pouted once more and shut the window. “Was he this trying when you were in Spain?” she asked Enjolras.

“He had his moments, as anyone would have over a protracted journey,” Enjolras admitted.

“I see, but I hope he wasn’t too much?”

“He’s learned a great deal. I have faith in that.”

Eponine nodded reflectively before looking out over the Tuscan countryside. “Sometimes in my mind he’s still the same little boy who first came to live with us in that old tenement. But I have to remember he isn’t that anymore.” She sat up straight and clutched Enjolras’ arm. “I think I see the church dome of Florence now!”

“Ah, the Florentine _duomo_ of the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore,” Enjolras noted, now recognizing this place from his reading. ‘ _In a way it is more impressive than the churches of Madrid,’_ he could not help thinking even as he heard a celebratory whoop from the carriage behind theirs; a quick glance showed him Grantaire and Jehan cheering as they waved their shirts in the air while Riva, LeClerc and Lamarre peered out of the carriage windows. Judging from the tumult below, it appeared as if Jacques, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac were doing the exact same thing. Enjolras chuckled, more so when he saw Eponine laugh as their convoy swiftly made its way over the last hill that demarcated the city limits of Florence.

“So much for opening and shutting windows!” Eponine giggled as she retied the ribbon that held her hair away from her face. She rapped on the carriage roof. “I hope you are taking notes down there!” she called.

Courfeyrac peered out and made a saluting motion to her. “Here we see the vanity of the Medicis!” he quipped as they passed over an old bridge over a wide, slightly murky river. “Not content with a single span, they had to build yet another corridor between their palaces, but at any time the Arno may sweep this all away!”

It was only then that Enjolras realized that Courfeyrac was pointing to yet another bridge that had a passageway built above it to connect the edifices on either side. “It would appear that it has been turned into another market avenue, like Venice’s Rialto,” he deadpanned.

“The Rialto being more democratic of course,” Courfeyrac pointed out. “Ah there is some grand feathered personage passing by!”

Enjolras turned in time to see another procession of carriages, flanking a coach bearing the insignia and devices of the Grand Duke of Tuscany. “Eponine, please tell that Grantaire and Jehan are not in _dishabille_ at this moment,” he muttered, giving his wife a sidelong glance.

Eponine risked a glance over her shoulder and shrugged. “I think that it is too late for that.”

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face even as he heard some shocked gasps and exclamations from passers-by on the narrow Florentine streets. At last their convoy reached an L-shaped piazza bordered by several impressive brick palaces with graceful arcades on their facades. “Is this the center of Florence?” he asked as he climbed down from his seat on the carriage roof.

“The Piazza della Signoria,” LeClerc said, stepping out from the second carriage. “There is the Palazzo Vecchio, the seat of the local government----”

“And there is where Dante was exiled!” Jehan cried, leaping off the carriage roof. The now properly clad poet ran up to a plaque on the side of one of the newer buildings. “Here, he was unjustly exiled for simply being in the wrong faction!”

“You have to admit that the exile probably led to the birth of the Divine Comedy,” Combeferre pointed out, but the calm in his tone was belied by the smile on his face. “Without it—”

“Dante would have had more to write about, perhaps on the other vagaries of human life apart from what lies beyond it,” Jehan insisted. “Florence had spurned and sullied its love for him, therefore it is fitting that his mortal dust does not lie in the belated tomb made for him here.”

Lamarre looked confusedly at the group. “Where is Dante Aligheri buried?”

“At Ravenna, if I recall correctly,” Riva answered. “Perhaps our route through the Papal States might take us there.”

Grantaire cleared his throat. “Dante may have been exiled, but here Michelangelo was welcomed, and I see proof of it not far from here,” he said gleefully.

‘ _This was inevitable,’_ Enjolras thought, fighting to keep a straight face as their entire party rushed towards the famed statue of David, standing at the entrance of one of the great palaces. All the same, once he was up close, he could not help but admire the masterful work that did more than bring a human figure out of marble. ‘ _Perhaps this was meant to stand the test of time,’_ he mused.

Courfeyrac on the other hand looked the statue up and down with a smirk on his face. “Now gentlemen, let us not be disappointed,” he said mirthfully.

Enjolras shut his eyes for a moment as his companions tried for a moment to hold back their snorts and chuckles, only to explode into full-on laughter in the middle of the piazza. He took a deep breath before looking at Jehan, who was the only other person who was cringing with mortification. “I believe Michelangelo might have desired a _different_ effect,” he deadpanned.

“Indeed, with his insistence on a more symbolic presentation as opposed to anatomical,” Jehan muttered through gritted teeth. “Have some reverence, please!”

“My friend, the comparison cannot be helped,” Grantaire reasoned, slinging an arm around Jehan’s shoulders. “Especially when we have such a fine exemplar here of the ideal proportions, from the golden crown all the way to the bottom” he added, looking at Enjolras.

Enjolras glared at his friend. “Is that necessary, Grantaire?”

“It is only an observation, in the name of art and science,” Grantaire said with a grin. “Would you second it?” he asked Eponine.

“Oh, I don’t know how you’d properly make that observation about your subject, Capital R.” Eponine replied in what would have been an innocent tone if not for the devious look in her eyes. “I am the only one here who knows the _entirety_ of him.”

Enjolras did not bother hiding his smirk even as Grantaire went red in the face amid the riotous laughter that now even Jehan joined in. As he met Eponine’s triumphant grin, he saw that just a few paces behind her a pair of municipal guardsmen now signing to each other. “Look sharp. We’re being watched,” he said to her in Occitan.

Eponine glanced quickly over her shoulder and bit her lip. “They’ve just sent someone out of the square too.”

LeClerc’s quickly reached into his coat for a sealed envelope and brought it out as the two guards approached. “Good day, _Signors_. We are headed to the office of the French consul to Tuscany,” he addressed them in near-perfect Italian.

The guards nodded gruffly. “Are you the French citizen who just came from Venice?” one of them asked.

“Yes, that is where we came from,” LeClerc replied. “Who in particular do you mean?”

The guards began to confer between themselves, only to salute a third who now approached them. “You must all come with us for questioning, _Signors_ and _Signora,”_ the newcomer said brusquely to the travelers.

“For what reason?” Enjolras asked in Italian, only to receive more baffled looks from the guards. “We’re on an important errand to the French consulate, and we have only just arrived here in Florence,” he added.

“My friend, I will simply translate,” LeClerc said to him in an undertone, clearly fighting to keep a straight face. He cleared his throat before looking at the guardsmen. “Earlier you said you were only looking for _one_ French citizen. We are several. We do have the right to know if the person you seek is among us,” he continued in Italian.

“Even so, what are the rest of you doing?” one of the guards retorted, puffing out his chest. “What is your business here in Florence?”

“Sight-seeing on a tour of the continent,” Riva answered, stepping forward. He bowed courteously. “I am _Signor_ Giovanni Riva of Venice, and I can vouch for these men and the lady. If you are not content with that, we can discuss this in front of the Grand Duke? I am sure he would be quite happy with the credentials I can present.”

‘ _Most likely he is bluffing, but I wouldn’t put it past him to actually be prepared with those,’_ Enjolras thought, doing his best to hide his smirk as the guards began to talk among themselves again, all the while shooting them glares through narrowed eyes. “It would be possible to simply ask them to escort us all as guests, then let the consul decide,” he suggested to LeClerc and Riva.

“It would, but I don’t like this form of miscommunication,” Riva said. He coughed to catch the guards’ attention. “What then is your decision?” he asked them. “Otherwise we may as well be on our way and leave you to more important business.”

The tallest of the guards looked him over with a sneer before unsheathing a sword. “I charge you to speak truthfully, _Signor_. Is one of you the diplomat Theophile D’Aramitz?” he asked.

Riva shook his head before bringing his own travel papers out of his coat pocket, and quickly motioning for the rest of the group to do the same. “You will see he isn’t here, _Signors_.”

Enjolras brought out his much-folded documents from his wallet, and shook out the sheets of paper before the guards’ frustrated faces. He watched coolly as the guards surveyed everyone else’s papers in turn before shoving the entire pile back into Riva’s face and then waving them off. “I take they were hoping to make an arrest today?” he asked the Venetian.

“Perhaps to curry favor,” Riva replied as he began distributing the travel papers back to the group. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” he said, looking at a rather discomfited Jehan. “This is not very hospitable, even by our standards here in Italy.”

“Well it does hold up the tradition of mixed welcomes in Florence,” Jehan said more pluckily. “So shall we go to the consul’s office? Where is it?”

LeClerc pointed to a street leading out of the piazza. “Just a few corners that way.” He sighed deeply when he looked at Enjolras as they began walking. “Your effort to learn Italian is very commendable, but it might be better to use French for the most part, even when speaking with the Florentines or other visitors,” he said discreetly.

“It was not entirely bad, only that the accent is clearly there,” Combeferre reasoned. “Unfortunately it is not so easily unlearned,” he added more sympathetically.

Jacques scratched his head. “Doesn’t Jehan also know Italian?” he asked.

“He does, but he’d either have to declaim in verse or _sing_ to be of any use here!” Grantaire quipped, elbowing the poet.

Jehan rolled his eyes. “It would have been impressive.”

“I am sure that once word gets around that one of the poet laureates of France is in residence, you will have no end of invitations to publicly perform your work here,” Lamarre said as they soon came into sight of a large brick building with the French tricolor hanging outside. “His residence is elsewhere?” he asked LeClerc.

“Probably towards the suburbs, or at least where there are gardens,” LeClerc replied, motioning for Riva to follow him as they went to speak to the footman at the consul’s door. In short order they were showed into the building and up to the second floor.

As their group walked up the stairs, Enjolras felt Eponine grab his hand. “You don’t think that this consul is anything like that Citizen Brisbois?” she asked him in a whisper.

“The fact that the city guard is on the watch is a sign that he has at least disseminated some information to the authorities,” Enjolras said. “That, though, is the very _least_ he could do in his capacity as consul.”

Eponine frowned for a moment. “Do you think we’ll ever see the day that ladies will run embassies as ambassadresses or consuls in their own right, and not merely as diplomatic wives?”

“Maybe. Have you acquired a liking for it?” Enjolras asked her curiously.

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t agree to live alone overseas, and I wouldn’t want to uproot our family from Paris. Things are much better for them there, especially for Laure.”

“That is true,” he concurred as they joined their friends in a hallway that was converted into a sort of anteroom by the addition of several low settees almost resembling divans, complemented by a few plush stools and lacquered tables. “A most interesting style,” he noted.

Jacques lost no time in sprawling on one of the divans, and would have put his feet up if not for Eponine’s giving him a warning look. “What is the consul’s name?” he asked.

“Silvain Coquelin,” LeClerc answered, taking the time to smooth out his unruly hair before flicking some dust off Lamarre’s coat sleeve. “We’d better look sharp.”

Enjolras had just enough time to dust off his own hat and coat before a door in the anteroom opened to admit a straight-backed gentleman of about fifty years of age. His dark hair, which openly showed some silver strands, was neatly combed back in keeping with his plain bordering on severe face. His dark blue attire was staid and unadorned save for a monocle hanging from a silver chain from one of his pockets. “Good day, Citizen Coquelin,” Enjolras greeted first.

Coquelin’s grave face lighted up with a smile as he looked at Enjolras. “When I heard that you were at the door, I thought it was a practical joke, Citizen. It is good to see that you and your rather…large party have made it safely here to Florence,” he said, going to shake Enjolras’ hand. “I hope you did not have any trouble on the road?”

“None whatsoever, Citizen, save for a slight misunderstanding with the city guard,” LeClerc replied. “They thought that we had another of our compatriots with us.”

“Ah yes, the arrest order for Citizen D’Aramitz. I am surprised that he should be the subject of such investigation; he was always so careful!” Coquelin remarked, shaking his head with a dismayed look. “But is it true that Citizen Brisbois has been recalled to France?”

“Yes, and Citizen Monteil has been put in charge of the office for the time being,” Lamarre replied, shaking Coquelin’s hand in turn.

The older diplomat squinted before placing his monocle to his eyes. “Now I remember you, Citizen Lamarre. It’s been a while since our paths crossed in France. I have such a difficult time remembering everyone, for the sheer volume of all these encounters.”

“Citizen Coquelin has been with the diplomatic corps even before the revolution,” LeClerc explained discreetly to the others before smiling at Coquelin again. “Citizen I have the honor of introducing some of our most illustrious from France: Citizenness Enjolras, as well as Citizens Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, Grantaire and Thenardier. I also would like to introduce _Signor_ Riva, from Venice,” he said to the consul.

“My pleasure to meet you all and welcome you personally to Florence!” Coquelin said, shaking everyone’s hand in turn. “It is not every day that this city is personally graced by some of the brightest minds of France, especially its youngest poet laureate,” he added, looking to Prouvaire.

Jehan blushed to the tips of his ears. “Thank you. It has been one of my greatest dreams to visit Florence, and see with my own eyes the gardens and hills that have inspired some of the greatest verses and operas of Europe.”

“A man after my own heart,” Coquelin said proudly. “Everyone comes to Florence for the paintings and sculptures; they are beautiful but they lack the living beauty of growing things. I hope this ongoing political mission does not hamper your enjoyment of this city.”

Enjolras nodded stoically at this reminder of the task at hand. “If you are at liberty, we can discuss the agenda of our visit here to Florence.”

“Ah that you are rather late for,” Coquelin said. He retreated into the next office and returned carrying some envelopes. “These are from the representatives from the duchies of Lucca, Parma and Modena, as well as the Kingdom of Sardinia. If I recall correctly, it was arranged that we would all meet here instead of in Lombardy-Venetia, or Rome?”

“Indeed, that was part of the original plan when we set out from Paris,” Enjolras said, receiving the missives. “Unless recent events have altered that?”

“On the contrary you have merely made this inevitable meeting more imperative,” Coquelin replied. “By this time tomorrow some of those letter writers will have heard of this _Risorgimento_ and your meeting with Mazzini. There is much explaining you all have to do, in so little time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes at that time, THAT particular sculpture was still situated outdoors. It was only moved indoors to save it from wear and tear during the 20th century.


	55. A Most Unpleasant Surprise

**Chapter 55: A Most Unpleasant Surprise**

“No, no. Please don’t! No!”

It took a moment till this muffled cry cut through Eponine’s dreams, but as soon as she opened her eyes she sat up to look at Enjolras, who had his face buried in the pillows. “Antoine! Wake up!” Eponine whispered frantically as she shook his bare shoulders, only to have him sit up with a loud, startled shout. Before he could flail about with panic, she swiftly grabbed his hands and moved to sit in front of him. “Antoine, it’s just me,” she said firmly.

Enjolras’ eyes were wide as he finally raised his head to find her in the half-light. “Eponine? Did I wake you?” he asked.

“Not for very long,” Eponine admitted, carefully unclenching his fists in her hands. Only then did she get out of bed just to light one of the candles at their bedside in their shared room in Florence. A quick glance around and towards the window told her that it was probably just a short while till dawn. She bit her lip as the candlelight fell on Enjolras’ pallid face, which was covered with a sheen of cold sweat. “I’m here,” she murmured as she sat beside him again on the bed and wrapped her arms around his torso.

Enjolras took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. “It was just a nightmare,” he finally said, relaxing enough to lean against Eponine. “Just a bad dream.”

“You haven’t had a one so terrible in years, or at least none that you remember on waking,” she pointed out, bringing up a hand to run through his hair. “Do you think you could tell me something about it, only if you want to?”

His cheeks unexpectedly reddened as he gave her a sidelong glance. “What good would that do?” he asked in a whisper.

“Maybe a little. You sleep better when you talk to me even just for a short while,” Eponine insisted. Seeing him so bereft of words was disconcerting, but even so it was a clue as to what the substance of the nightmare might have been about. ‘ _I could kill that Celeste Berlioz for this, really,’_ the thought occurred to her as she continued to trace soothing circles through his tangled curls, lingering when she felt him begin to breathe more easily. “Antoine?”

He gritted his teeth. “It’s ridiculous. It wasn’t what _actually_ happened in Zaragoza.”

‘ _But it was what you feared would happen,’_ she realized, holding him more tightly. She kissed his left temple, moving down to brush her lips over the strong angle of his jaw, finishing with a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “You’re here with me now, and safe,” she whispered, looking into his eyes, the clear blue of which was dark with a look of unease and pain she dearly wished she could banish. “Could you remember that?”

He let out a ragged breath as he managed a slight smile. “I shall endeavor to,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles tenderly. “Eponine…” he trailed off, resting his forehead against hers.

She smiled before kissing his lips gently, just to give him a chance to take control. She sighed with pleasure as he kissed her back slowly, in that way that always sent heat coiling through her body and pooling in her belly. “Come here,” she murmured, pulling him closer as they broke their kiss for some much-needed air. She was rewarded with his kissing her even more deeply even as his hands began to roam over her breasts, tracing a path down to her hips as he gently but firmly pressed her into the pillows. It was not long before they were making love tenderly, with her encouraging his caresses with her own sighs and whispers, as well as her hands running up and down his back. She cried out softly as she reached her peak, just moments before he caught her lips in a searing kiss as his own climax overtook him. He murmured her name against her collarbone before dropping his head to rest on her chest as they both caught their breath, neither of them letting go of the other. 

Eponine smiled at the feeling of both their heartbeats racing, almost in time with each other, even as she rubbed Enjolras’ shoulders. “We both really needed this,” she murmured.

“I need _you_ ,” Enjolras said. His cheeks reddened before he propped himself up on his elbows to kiss her brow. “Just when I thought that I would be at my wits’ end with everything that happened in Spain, then you suddenly showed up in Venice.”

“I s’pose you thought you were dreaming at that ball?”

“No, I was sure I was wide awake at that moment. It wasn’t surreal, but more like suddenly seeing everything clearly again.”

Eponine felt tears pricking at her eyes from this uncharacteristic confession even as she answered him with another light kiss. More reassuring than his words was the surer way that Enjolras was once again during their intimate moments. ‘ _I missed this too,’_ she thought even as she watched him begin to run a hand through her hair. This comforting gesture was enough to lull her into a blissful lassitude, such that she could not hold back a yawn. “We still have a while yet till we actually _have_ to get up,” she murmured.

“Indeed,” Enjolras concurred as he moved to lie beside her. He rested an arm over her waist before kissing the back of her neck. “Sleep well, Eponine.”

“You too, Antoine,” she whispered, finding his hand and linking her fingers with his as she closed her eyes, enjoying the calming rhythm of his steady breathing next to her.

It only seemed like a few short minutes till the sun’s rays touched on her closed eyes and ended all hope of continuing slumber. Eponine groaned and stretched, only to feel Enjolras’ arm pull her closer to his body, as if in protest. “I’m sure it’s breakfast time already, Antoine,” she giggled.

“Must we?” Enjolras asked, planting another kiss on the back of her neck.

Eponine snorted before turning to face him, shaking her head on seeing that his eyes were still closed. “We’re not going to have any food left downstairs. My brother and Grantaire will surely eat our shares,” she said. The thought of the chaos that would surely transpire in the breakfast room of the villa they shared with their friends was enough to have her rolling her eyes. “And we won’t have food left till the afternoon _fete_ that Citizen Coquelin wants to throw for the diplomats _and_ for Jehan to read his poetry in,” she added.

“We can go out for breakfast,” Enjolras muttered.

“Are you actually asking, or only suggesting?”

“I know you prefer the former.”

‘ _He knows me too well,’_ Eponine thought before poking him between his ribs, where she knew he was most ticklish, laughing and giving him a teasing kiss when he yelped and let go of her. After all it had become a practice of theirs to take even just one breakfast time together, away from any other travelling companions, during any trips out of Paris. She took the opportunity to get out of bed and wash up at a small basin set to one side of their accommodations for this exact purpose. She looked over her shoulder only to catch sight of her husband now sitting up in bed while watching her intently. “Do you know where you want to go for breakfast?” she asked him.

“Yesterday, during one of the meetings with some Florentine officials, one of them recommended a café with reputably good coffee and what they call _cornetti_ ,” Enjolras said, stretching gracefully before he got out of bed. “Though in form, they are not that different from our French croissants.”

“I’d take any good bread, even if it was just a _brioche_ ,” Eponine laughed as she went to pick out a dress. She smiled as she brought out a red dress that she’d thought of packing only at the last minute, not knowing if she would get the occasion to wear it. ‘ _But I s’pose some part of me knew I’d have to make an impression,’_ she decided as she continued to get dressed, sneaking a glance to where Enjolras was also putting on some clothes. “How do I look?” she asked as she smoothed down the dress over her waist and hips.

“Stunning. I must say the only thing more incendiary than that will be Jehan’s poetry,” Enjolras quipped conspiratorially even as he donned his red tailcoat over his otherwise plain attire.

“It’s just as well that it’s a formal afternoon occasion, so we can look a little better than usual,” Eponine pointed out as she began to braid her hair before pinning it up into a knot. ‘ _Can’t have it going every which way throughout the day,’_ she decided as she donned her gloves and grabbed her bonnet while Enjolras combed out his own hair before putting on his hat. In a few minutes they had succeeded in sneaking out of the villa and were now strolling to a small café just two streets away.

Even though it was rather early in the morning, the café was already full of workingmen, students, and a few travelers milling about or congregating around tables crowded with cups of coffee, small plates holding _cornetti_ and other breads, or large bowls heaped high with beans stewed in tomatoes and topped with poached eggs. The particularly fragrant aroma of the latter dish had Eponine’s mouth watering as she and Enjolras found a table. “You s’pose we could try that?” she whispered eagerly to him.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as he eyed a server passing by with a bowl of bean stew. “It looks rather hearty, even for breakfast.”

“It’s just right for a farmer or a workingman,” Eponine said with a grin. “We can share a bowl, and wash it down with coffee.”

“That might work,” Enjolras concurred before waving to a server. “Will you still also want some bread to go with that?” she asked.

“I think we can split that too,” Eponine said, squeezing Enjolras’ hand before he got up to place their orders at the café’s small counter. She felt a smile tugging at her lips as she heard some workingmen singing a sonorous ballad over the chatter of some of their fellows. As she looked around the café to locate the source of this merriment, she caught sight of a tall, angular figure making his way through the room. ‘ _What is that Lord Griffiths doing here?’_ she wondered, ducking her head in an attempt to remain inconspicuous.

Lord Griffiths paused as if doing a double-take before striding towards the table that Eponine occupied. “Good morning. This is a pleasant surprise, Mrs. Enjolras,” he greeted imposingly as he stood in front of the table.

“Yes, I never thought we’d cross paths again in Florence of all places, Mr. Griffiths,” she said with a smile. “Or am I supposed to still call you by your title all the way here in Italy?”

Lord Griffiths’ mustache twitched for a moment. “Charming, as always. I hope that you enjoyed your stay in London?” he asked, his eyes now roving to her décolletage.

“As best as I could. What I find surprising is that you’d choose to summer here at the height of the Season,” Eponine replied , angling her seat away from him ever so slightly.

“After a while the delights of the Season grow monotonous,” Lord Griffiths said stiffly. “Who are you travelling with?”

“Family,” Eponine replied, giving him a flippant smile.

“You should bring them to the Boboli Gardens later; there’s to be a reading by a famous French poet,” Lord Griffiths said condescendingly.

“I was not aware it was open to the public,” Eponine said. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Enjolras now returning to their table. “Antoine, look who’s here in Florence,” she said more loudly. “You remember I told you about Lord Griffiths in my letters?”

Enjolras gritted his teeth slightly, clearly recognizing his name, but his smile was charming even as he shook Lord Griffiths’ hand. “Citizen Enjolras. It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said. “What brings you here to Florence?”

“Some important business matters. As it is, one cannot live on the proceeds of an English estate alone,” Lord Griffiths said with a rueful air. “I will not keep you from your breakfast any longer, so good day to you both,” he said before leaving the room rather hurriedly, amid the protests of the proprietor for him to pay his bill.

Eponine rolled her eyes at this. “Clearly he’s a man who thinks he can get away with anything,” she muttered. “I don’t like that he’s in Florence all of a sudden.”

“Is there something unusual about that?”

“It’s only the middle of summer. The Season, as what it’s called, is the longest time that Parliament sits in London. It’s not usual for someone from the House of Lords to suddenly show up when he is needed elsewhere. I know he was sitting on some important decisions that Ambassador Delaroche wanted in France’s favor.”

Enjolras glanced towards the door even as a server brought over a huge bowl of bean stew topped with two eggs, as well as two black coffees. “Do you think this is connected to someone opening Citizen Mazzini’s letters?” he asked Eponine in Occitan as soon as the server left.

“Maybe. I did see him in some deal in Piccadilly involving the Clerkenwell hideout that Victoria—I mean Citizenness Calamy and I found,” Eponine replied, smiling slightly at the deep aroma of the coffee in front of her. “I hope that she is already on his trail. If not I should write ahead to Rome to warn her.”

“You’d have to ask Citizen Coquelin how to make sure that missive arrives securely,” Enjolras pointed out as he picked up his cup of coffee and took a sip. “This is the best I’ve had in a while.”

“They don’t do things just so in Spain?” Eponine asked as she got a spoonful of the bean stew. “By the way where exactly is the fete and poetry reading going to be later?”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “One of the old Medici properties, the Boboli Gardens if I heard it correctly from Jehan and Citizen Coquelin.”

Eponine’s eyes widened at these words. “It is a public garden?”

“I should think so, by now.” Enjolras set down his coffee cup. “There is something wrong about that?”

Eponine nodded slowly. “We need to warn Jehan and the others. I don't know what Lord Griffiths might do, but it's better we just keep our eyes open for now.”


	56. Blood and Verses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for some violence and physical injury

**Chapter 56: Blood and Verses**

“What harm can a stuffed shirt of an English lord do anyhow?”

“It’s not him _per se_ who may pose a problem, R. It’s whoever he’s brought with him.”

Grantaire whistled at Combeferre’s assessment before glancing at Enjolras while they and their companions were seated in the villa’s living room while readying to head out to the Boboli Gardens. It was already almost three in the afternoon, well after the morning’s meetings and a pleasant lunch had been digested and in some cases, slept off. “I am surprised that you did not go for him like an avenging angel while you and Eponine were at breakfast.”

“At that moment there was no cause to,” Enjolras pointed out as he tied his bootlaces securely. ‘ _Without an actual deed in commission, there is no cause for an apprehension,’_ he thought as he regarded the group with him, which was comprised of Eponine, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jean Prouvaire, Grantaire, LeClerc, Lamarre, and Riva.

Enjolras cleared his throat before speaking. “The _Risorgimento_ is in the hearts of many of the Tuscans, and even their neighbors in Sardinia, Parma and Modena---at least this was mentioned in the various meetings that have transpired all week. Even though this is not a French affair, it concerns us all since we are Europeans. We cannot take up arms for Italy but we must do what is in our power to keep this cause safe from any elements who would sully it or start an unprecedented conflict. Opportunities such as this afternoon fete are supposed to be avenues for solidarity, but they also can be stages for provocation and unrest. In light of the events that we’ve all witnessed in Venice, we need to be vigilant lest we have a repeat of these altercations here in Florence.” He paused to let the words sink in before continuing. “It may be that this Lord Griffiths and his companions, if any, will not do anything. In the absence of any confirmation from the Calamys and our friends in Venice, we have limited information to work with. Unless you have found something more?” he asked Lamarre.

The diplomat nodded. “Part of my orders here is to investigate English involvement in Italian affairs. Citizen Mazzini confirmed some of it with the intrusion into his correspondence. The Home Office has its own surveillance, which has been confirmed by some of the intelligence our friends have brought to supplement what we found in London,” he said, looking at Courfeyrac. “The most disturbing part is that the full extent of English involvement is not yet known.”

“But to what end would these English manipulations be here in Italy?” Prouvaire asked, fidgeting with the lapel of his bright blue coat. “I thought that apart from matters of culture and arts, as well as some trade, there was little to interest them here politically.”

“They do have an interest: their old alliance with Austria,” Riva drawled. “England did not come to Austria’s aid during the suppression of the revolts more than a decade ago, but if Austria perceives the _Risorgimento_ or other political affairs to be too big for it to handle, then England may be called upon alongside with other allies.”

“And let us not forget the interest in curbing republican influences,” Courfeyrac added more wryly. “No matter the sauce from which country striving for it, the substance of a republic is unpalatable to the English and Austrians, and perhaps even the Russians too, considering the recent events in Poland.”

“Back to our present problem however: what is the worst we can possibly expect from this Lord Griffiths and any of his cronies?” LeClerc chimed in. “We’ve already raised this problem to Citizen Coquelin, and he’s gone out to coordinate with the authorities to secure the park. Shouldn’t that be enough to prevent any incident?”

“If this was Lord Griffiths of several months ago, I’d say that would do,” Eponine said. “But I think that what happened in the Piazza San Marco shows that someone, maybe not him, is up to something dangerous. Maybe Lord Griffiths won’t do something, but someone else will.”

“Especially with that Citizen D’Aramitz still at large. He never stopped here at Florence; chances are he proceeded straight on to Rome,” LeClerc noted. “The papers that Citizenness Berlioz turned over to you the night before we left Venice showed some codes pointing to persons and meet-ups throughout Italy, including here in this very city.”

“The codes are not enough to ascertain their identities, so we have to be on the watch for any sort of event, regardless of the instigator,” Enjolras concurred. “I heard that the fete will take place in the Boboli Gardens’ amphitheater, which you visited yesterday?” he asked Prouvaire, clasping the latter’s arm .

The poet nodded, motioning for Grantaire to bring out a pencil and a scrap of paper. “It is a wide-open space, not exactly built like an old Greek amphitheater but it has the same features of steps all along its sides. The steps have statues housed in small niches towards the top of the railings. This place is one of the first things that any visitor will see when entering from the Palazzo Pitti, and everyone must pass through it to reach most of the Boboli Gardens. There is an obelisk in the middle as well as a basin of red granite at its base. A carriage drive cuts through the amphitheater, but it will be blocked off at least for the duration of the fete.”

Grantaire looked up from the quick sketch he was making in accordance to Prouvaire’s narration. “Do you know where you’ll be standing?”

“At the obelisk.”

“Then it is important that we do not all congregate in the same spot; we must have our eyes on different parts of the amphitheater,” Enjolras observed. “Certainly, the guards or any help that Citizen Coquelin will extend shall be useful.”

Eponine shook her head. “They’ll be more concerned with comings and goings from both sides. I s’pose they won’t be watching what everyone is doing inside, like if someone decides to start a scuffle or debate. That might be up to us to keep an eye on.” 

“The steps are good places for someone to hide, especially behind the statues. At the Piazza San Marco, the gunman was hiding behind a pillar in one of those arcades,” Combeferre observed. “Most likely people will congregate towards the obelisk, so anyone sitting too high up or lurking in this area would be more suspect.”

“Well since Jehan will be fixed in the middle of the amphitheater, the rest of us can move in pairs,” Courfeyrac suggested. “We’ll need to keep our eyes too on Jacques, Citizen Coquelin, and even some of the visiting delegates from other Italian territories.”

“Yes, there is that,” Enjolras replied, touching Courfeyrac’s shoulder. He looked seriously at LeClerc, Lamarre, and Riva. “In the event that some violent incident should occur, are you three capable of defending yourselves or at least getting out of a fight?”

“Well you saw me get out of that riot in Valencia,” LeClerc replied with a grin. “I am sure I can borrow a pistol or two from Citizen Coquelin; he has a fine collection.”

“I will also ask the same favor as well, but I would prefer only having to use my fists,” Lamarre said. He nudged Riva, who was looking uneasy. “Every man can throw a punch, my friend.”

“I would have you know that I was the best in fencing among my schoolfriends when I was studying at the university in Padua,” Riva said, flushing slightly.

“Unless you carry a sword on you---and I know you have none, you’re better served by singlesticks,” Grantaire quipped. “All you need is the loan of a cane.”

“I have a sword-cane which I can lend you since I have a pistol of my own,” Courfeyrac said to Riva before looking pointedly at Combeferre. “I am sure though that you brought an arsenal.”

“A pistol and a few rounds; it was all I could carry on short notice. Since I can also use a cane to some effect, I will lend it to Jehan,” Combeferre replied casually. “Need I ask about you two?” he said to Enjolras and Eponine.

“We’re prepared,” Enjolras said, noticing now that Eponine had also worn her boots under her red silk dress. ‘ _Though hopefully we will not have to resort to anything more than savate,’_ he thought even as he saw Coquelin and Jacques enter the room, both of them carrying their coats and hats. “Are we already tarrying, Citizen?” he asked the consul.

“We are right on schedule. I got to speak with the city guard to post additional men at the fete,” Coquelin announced as he wiped his monocle. “I hope this is more of a case of over-preparation than under-preparation,” he said to Enjolras.

‘ _Or completely unnecessary preparation,’_ Enjolras thought, nodding to the senior diplomat before the latter was approached by Lamarc and LeClerc. He saw Jacques looking uneasily at him. “Is something the matter?” he asked the young boy.

“You’re all planning something dangerous again,” Jacques said. “That’s why you got almost everyone to talk down here before we go to the gardens.”

“We are only being prepared,” Enjolras pointed out. “You have to heed me and your sister on this. If one of us says you have to stay in one place, you need to stay put. If you are told to run, you must run. And if we say do not come back for us, then do not even look back.”

Jacques’ lip curled with a clearly upset expression. “When am I ever going to get big enough to help you and Ponine out?”

“You already are capable of many things. But this is one situation I hope you will never have to face,” Enjolras said firmly.

“I was with you and Ponine during many of the dangerous things that happened in Paris when I was little,” Jacques argued. “I couldn’t do much then, but I could do more now.”

“Let me amend---this is a situation that you should not face again. We are not on familiar ground in France. This is not the place to be foolhardy or imprudent,” Enjolras pointed out. ‘ _And I did not shield you all these years from danger only to have you fall into it at the first opportunity,’_ he thought as he regarded Jacques’ despondent expression. “You will have your chance yet to do something great, and it may come sooner than you’d like.”

“Like in Rome?”

“Perhaps.”

Jacques nodded slowly before donning his coat and putting on his hat. “Am I allowed to write Neville and Gavroche about this?” he asked.

“Not till all is said and done,” Enjolras admonished him, looking to where the rest of their group was now putting on different types of outerwear. He caught sight of Eponine quickly tying on a straw bonnet that obscured most of her red hair; a dark pelerine-style coat buttoned up over her dress made her suddenly seem inconspicuous. “I’d still know you anywhere though,” he said in her ear as he also began putting on his hat.

Eponine gave him a mischievous sidelong glance before reaching up to push his hat more securely on his head. “I know, but we can’t have Lord Griffiths or the others recognizing you because of your hair,” she quipped, linking her arm with his even as Coquelin returned with the diplomats in tow and bellowing for carriages.

The Boboli Gardens was located on the south bank of the Arno, across from the Piazza della Signoria. Even on the road leading to the Palazzo Pitti, Enjolras could already see some members of the city guard trying to look stern and imperious at their stations. ‘ _Perhaps a little too conspicuous,’_ Enjolras thought, even as he felt Eponine’s gloved hand close around his as they alighted from a carriage at the old palace’s entrance. “The delegates from the other Italian duchies and territories wish to meet you as well,” he said to her. “It is not only Jehan they have an interest in.”

“I s’pose they would like Combeferre for his science and Grantaire for his journalism, but even me for my politics?” she asked bemusedly. “But if there is a person that these Italians should meet it is our Genoan friend Signor Mazzini.”

“When their time has come,” Enjolras replied as they and their friends fell in with a queue of people crossing the palace’s grand hall, out to a stairway that led to the garden. On the stairs he and Eponine had a view of an expansive garden of fountains and grottoes, with well-paved lanes meandering through rows of trees and bushes. A few buildings such as a green pavilion with a domed roof stood out amidst all this greenery. The amphitheater, which was located directly in front of the Palazzo Pitti’s exit, was decked with garlands of roses as well as yellow and white wildflowers interspersed with green boughs and herbs, hanging just a few feet above small tables decorated with fruits and more blooms.

“It is fortunate that the Grand Duke permitted use of these public grounds for this event,” Coquelin remarked in an undertone. “I should say that a Florentine garden party is more splendid than say, the Venetian masquerades and balls.”

Enjolras glanced at Riva, whose face had flushed slightly at this jibe. ‘ _At least here he is less affected than he ever was in Venice,’_ he observed as their group made their way to the amphitheater. There was less of the flippant fop about him now, and a much more serious character had seemingly overtaken him during their days in Tuscany. “Do you spot any acquaintances of yours?” Enjolras discreetly asked the Venetian.

Riva gestured subtly to a group of people standing at the far end of the garden. “If I am not mistaken, I have to bring over a letter of introduction from _Signor_ Contarini,” he said. He self-consciously smoothed out his clothes. “I hope I make a respectable impression on them. And I will remember to keep my eyes open.”

“You will,” Enjolras said confidently as they now all reached the amphitheater. Almost immediately Prouvaire was mobbed by his admirers, while Grantaire quickly waved to some French correspondents standing at a table. “Do you spot any acquaintances from your scientific circles?” he asked Combeferre.

“No, but I shall make some,” Combeferre replied reassuringly. He nodded as he looked around the crowd mingling under the garlands. “So far, no one on the steps.”

“A good sign,” Enjolras concurred, even as he caught sight of a French diplomat motioning to him from the middle of a group of about ten men of varying ages. “That gentleman is from the consulate at Modena. He’s been at some of the meetings these past few days,” he said to Eponine as he took her hand while they crossed the grassy amphitheater.

The diplomat from Modena nodded amiably to Enjolras before giving Eponine a surprised look. “I knew you would not pass up even this enjoyment,” he greeted. “May we know the name of your lovely companion?”

“She is my wife Eponine,” Enjolras said proudly. “She is a translator and an author in her own right as well.”

“Welcome to Florence, Citizenness,” the diplomat said, giving her a more respectful bow even as the other men exchanged surprised looks. He glanced to his companions, all of whom were either from the other French consulates or their Italian counterparts. “Citizen Enjolras, we were just talking about how your experience as one of the architects of the French charter is an inspiration for the recent upheavals here in Italy.”

“It was not my experience alone; the groups I was affiliated with were only a few among the many in Paris, while Paris is only one city among the many cities and towns of France,” Enjolras replied candidly. “Every department had a representative in drafting that charter, which was subsequently ratified in a plebiscite.”

“Yes, but the vote from Paris still swings more weight for its powers of persuasion,” a delegate from Sardinia said. “ _Signora,_ is it true that it was the women of Paris who agitated most strongly to be given the right to vote under the charter?” he asked Eponine.

Eponine smiled widely. “Yes, and some of my friends were among those at the forefront of that effort. The right to vote was only the beginning of it.”

“Yes, so we’ve heard,” the Sardinian said. “Would you say that this also deserves to be extended to Italian women, in the event this…change continues?”

“Yes of course. Are Italian women any less than Frenchwomen?” Eponine asked. “Maybe some might insist that here in Italy the women lack for opportunities and even education, but I s’pose that would be corrected if they were given the chance to make political decisions.”

“That is all very well here in Florence, Venice, and indeed nearly any other state except those directly under the Holy See. It will simply not sit well with the Holy Father,” a delegate from Parma said, looking at her from head to toe. “Saint Paul himself said that a wife must submit to her husband, as he is supposed to be her head.”

“Well Saint Paul was writing to the Ephesians, at least so the translations say, and not to women of other parts of Europe or even the world,” Eponine replied. “And besides what does the Pope know of the second part of it, which is a husband loving his wife?” 

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face amid the shocked exclamations and murmurs of the other diplomats and representatives present. “One must not take any text only for its parts, without considering the whole,” he pointed out. ‘ _Even if fundamentally, Saint Paul’s premise is myopic and flawed,’_ he thought, sharing a conspiratorial smile with Eponine.

“Eponine, could you spare us a minute? There are some young ladies here who wish to make your acquaintance,” Courfeyrac said, striding up to this group. “I am sorry if I am impeding your discussion,” he said to Enjolras.

“Oh it is no worry, I believe I’ve made my point,” Eponine said, grinning triumphantly. “And you are smiling rather widely, Antoine. I s’pose you shall enjoy yourself,” she whispered in Enjolras’ ear before linking her arm through Courfeyrac’s and going to join another merry group on the other side of the amphitheater.

The delegate from Parma chuckled as he watched Eponine leave. “Then the rumor is true that Frenchmen speak words that inflame Europe, and Frenchwomen have no fear of their husbands or fathers.” He shook his head at Enjolras. “I would not wish to have a household or even a State that is so unsettled.”

“Then what would you have?” Enjolras asked, looking this man in the eye.

“Order, from the fashion best suited to a Duchy and its people, as well as Liberty,” the delegate replied. “That order can come from a constitution, which will also safeguard freedom and the rights of each subject.”

“You say subject and not citizen?”

“What else then does one call someone living in a duchy under a Duke?”

“That would also largely depend how that Duke relates to the people who have made the charter, and from whose will the strength of a charter springs forth,” Enjolras pointed out. “It will now become a question as to who holds more primacy: the duke or the charter, to decide the question between subject and citizen.”

“Would you advocate then the Venetian system of a Republic?” the Sardinian asked. “That has been touted as a model here in Italy.”

“I doubt that all parts of Italy have the same intricate system of patricians that Venice is also known for,” Enjolras said. “It would not do to raise new oligarchs and dynasties to rule over the people. A model that respects equality and fraternity would be better suited to this climate.”

“It would be much better to simply have a confederacy of Italian states under a single leadership. Even that of the Pope. It would make more sense than giving over the rule of this land to the rabble,” a Florentine muttered.

“Who then will arbitrarily decide that?” Enjolras inquired even as he heard Coquelin now introducing Prouvaire to the assembly. Both men were standing a short distance away, at the obelisk in the center of the amphitheater. Enjolras quickly glanced around to find Combeferre with Jacques and some other Florentines, while Grantaire was still chatting with his fellow journalists. Lamarre and LeClerc were with separate groups of diplomats, while Riva was caught in conversation with a different group from the one he’d introduced himself to. Courfeyrac was in a lively debate with an older official while Eponine was avidly listening to a young girl telling a humorous anecdote.

Prouvaire’s cheeks were pink as he cleared his throat and stood up straight. “Good afternoon _Signors_ and _Signoras_. It is a great pleasure to be sharing my verses in such splendid company,” he began in Italian. “This poem which I will read in French is a favored one from the days when I was a student at the Quartier Latin---”

“ _Do you remember our sweet life, when we were both so young, and when we had no other desire in our hearts than to be well dressed and in love,”_ Enjolras recalled silently. Even though it had been many years since he had heard these verses, their wistfulness was still fresh and new in his ears. At that moment a flash of motion near the obelisk caught his eye; a man had somehow stepped behind Prouvaire and was now bringing something out of his coat.

There was no time to shout a warning, at least not to the poet who had his eyes closed in the intensity of his verse. “Get down!” Enjolras called even as he ran forward to tackle Prouvaire to the ground. Not even a second after this a sharp report pierced through the air, followed by a second and a third that sent the onlookers shouting and running out of the amphitheater as guardsmen rushed down to try to maintain order.

Enjolras got up and glanced down at Prouvaire, who seemed stunned for a moment. “Everything well there, brother?” he asked, helping the poet up.

“How did you see that?” Prouvaire asked, bringing his pistol out of his coat.

‘ _I almost didn’t,’_ Enjolras thought as he looked around only to see Combeferre already taking down the man who had nearly shot Prouvaire. He saw a man crouched on a nearby step, drawing a pistol, thus prompting him to run up to this would-be assailant to disable him with a quick _fouetté_ that sent him sprawling. Elsewhere, Grantaire had somehow borrowed someone’s cane and was using it to ward off a pair of men who appeared ready to pummel him with their fists. Riva was on the verge of losing his sword-cane, but before he could be overpowered entirely by a burly swordsman, Courfeyrac had danced in the midst of this scene, already ready to pose a challenge with his own pistol. LeClerc was helping Coquelin get up from where he’d stumbled over some fallen furniture, while Lamarre was covering some civilians, including Jacques, fleeing to the Palazzo Pitti.

Enjolras pulled his gun out of his coat even as he now caught sight of Eponine quickly getting to her feet after having just grappled and taken down a gunman, but before he could rush to her he saw Lord Griffiths suddenly hit her in the back of the head with the butt of his pistol. “You bastard!” he roared as he saw Eponine collapse. Yet even as he shouted this, he already saw Lord Griffiths turn his pistol about and aim it for Eponine’s back. Enjolras swiftly cocked his own gun and aimed for Lord Griffiths’ left knee. A mere second after he fired the English lord yelped and fell to the ground, cursing and screaming at the top of his lungs.

Enjolras now reached Eponine’s side just as she moaned and tried to open her eyes. The sight of blood soaking her hair made his stomach turn but he ignored this as he helped her up to a sitting position. “Easy now. You took a hard blow,” he said as she clutched his arm.

Eponine groaned as she looked around dazedly. “Antoine? Was that Lord Griffiths?” she asked, looking to the man writhing in the dirt a few feet away.

“Yes, and he just tried—” Enjolras began before Eponine cried out in pain and retched. He only had time to gather her hair away from her face before she slumped to the ground, vomiting once again. “Combeferre! Someone get help please!” he shouted even as their friends rushed over.


	57. The Stakes of the Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a slight tweak to the previous chapter to better reflect the extent of Eponine's injuries. 
> 
> Of course in a modern setting a concussion would be managed a little differently. But they just have to do the best they can

**Chapter 57: The Stakes of the Game**

The first thing that Eponine realized once the worst of the pain had begun to ebb was that she was somehow lying in a soft bed. She opened her eyes slowly, only to sigh with relief on being greeted by the soft glow of candlelight instead of the blinding brightness that had bothered her for the past hours. It was only at that moment she realized that she was not alone. “What am I doing here?” she asked, turning gingerly to look at the man sitting up next to her in bed, reading a book.

Enjolras quickly put down his reading at the sound of her voice. “Eponine, you’re supposed to be resting,” he said with undisguised relief as he took her hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve had the worst headache,” she replied as she attempted to sit up. For a moment she feared that her vision would blur or dizziness would strike once again, but she soon found that she was propped up on the pillows without much trouble except for the lingering ache at the back of her head. When she brought up a hand to investigate, her fingertips brushed against a bandage. “What happened?”

Enjolras’ eyes were worried as he pushed a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Do you at least remember what day it is now?” he asked.

‘ _What day was it when I last wrote a letter?’_ Eponine wondered, trying to count back the days. “It’s June 22 today, I s’pose.”

“Very well then. Where are we?”

“Florence.”

“Good. Now, who am I?”

She gaped up at him confusedly. “You’re my husband, Antoine. Why are you asking me these things?”

“I am only making sure,” he said, his lips quirking upwards in a smile before he kissed her brow. “Do you remember anything of what happened this afternoon?”

She shut her eyes as images of flowers, gaily dressed persons conversing with one another, and the sound of a gunshot came to mind. “Were we in some sort of garden?”

“Yes, the Boboli Gardens,” he said grimly. “Do you remember anything else?”

She shook her head. “I s’pose it didn’t end well.”

“That is a serious understatement,” Enjolras said even as a knock sounded on the bedroom door. “She’s awake,” he called in a stage-whisper.

“That is good news,” Combeferre greeted as he entered the room. “How is your headache now, Eponine?” the physician asked her.

“I think that it’s a good thing if I can sit without feeling ill,” Eponine replied, pulling up the blankets to cover the nightgown she was wearing. “I could only lie still a little while ago.”

“She doesn’t remember what happened at the fete,” Enjolras said concernedly.

“That is to be expected; it is more worrisome if she is utterly insensible or if she cannot remember anything past the immediate incident,” Combeferre said reassuringly. “Eponine, I will need you to answer a few questions and do a few simple things before we can rest a little more easily. You were hit very hard in the fight back there.”

“That would explain this,” Eponine said, gesturing to the bandage. “What did it?”

“The butt of a pistol,” Combeferre replied, holding up a candle as if to check her eyes. “Now could you close and open your eyes?”

Eponine sighed before obliging with this as well as the rest of the tasks she was requested to do one after the other, ranging from making faces, sticking out her tongue, repeating and memorizing a sequence of numbers and even raising her legs slightly and wiggling her toes. “Did I do well enough?” she asked as Combeferre wrote down some notes in his pocketbook.

“Nothing is out of the ordinary or diminished with your mental and physical faculties,” Combeferre informed her with a more relieved smile. “Nevertheless, you still must rest completely for a day or two to ensure a full recovery.”

“You mean stay in this bed all day?”

“Not just that; I would also discourage reading too long, translating, writing lengthy letters or any form of mental strain till you are up and about.”

“A bump on the head doesn’t make me an invalid,” Eponine protested. “What am I to do for all that time here?”

“We’ll find ways to pass the time, and besides there is no shortage of visitors; Jacques has been asking for you, and so have Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Grantaire,” Enjolras explained. “Even Citizens Coquelin, Lamarre, LeClerc, and Riva have been worried.”

‘ _I suppose this means that he intends to stay here too for as long as I am laid up,’_ Eponine realized. “I really don’t remember what happened. I don’t think it would be too taxing if you could tell me even a little of it,” she argued.

“We were all at a gathering for the diplomats as well as Jehan’s poetry reading,” Enjolras said. “He did not even finish a stanza before an Italian agent tried to shoot him.”

Eponine’s eyes widened at this news. “Is he hurt? Then what happened?”

“Enjolras here tackled him out of the way in the nick of time, while I had to deal with the perpetrator myself,” Combeferre explained. “He had more accomplices, and that resulted in a panic even worse than what we witnessed in Venice.”

“Was anyone else also shot or hurt?” Eponine asked worriedly

“Lord Griffiths, who was among the perpetrators,” Enjolras replied in a steely tone. “I dealt with him after he hit you with his pistol.”

“Enjolras, you shot him _in the knee_ ,” Combeferre pointed out. “His kneecap is shattered, and he will never be able to use it quite the same again.”

“Judging by how he was at that ball in England, he was not very good with using his legs to start with,” Eponine quipped. “I had the misfortune of dancing with him then,” she added.

“Hopefully this is the last misfortune you will have to endure from him,” Enjolras remarked even as another knock sounded on the door. “It’s unlocked.”

“Some mail has arrived,” Jacques announced as he opened the door a crack, then wider when he saw his sister sitting up in bed. “She’s awake!” he said before pulling Prouvaire also into the room with him.

“Good thing you’re looking better, Eponine,” Prouvaire said. He had changed out of his colorful attire into a more relaxed suit of clothes, but he still appeared rather shaken. “No one except Combeferre was really sure what to do after what happened.”

“He did a fine job with it,” Eponine replied. She sighed as she saw her brother-in-law’s still uneasy mien. “Let’s not write to Azelma about this just yet. She’d be furious,” she suggested. 

Prouvaire nodded. “I agree. Not just yet.”

Jacques snorted. “What’s she going to do if she finds out, make a new armor for all of us?”

“This isn’t a stage, this is actual intrigue,” Enjolras pointed out more sternly. “All the same it would not do to unnecessarily worry our kin at home.”

Eponine gestured to the bundle of letters that Jacques carried. “I’d like to start reading some of those,” she said, gesturing for Jacques to hand her the missives. “Don’t worry, I won’t start answering any of these before tomorrow,” she added, seeing Combeferre’s warning look.

Combeferre sighed deeply before looking at Enjolras. “Good luck to you. I’ll ask Citizen Coquelin if dinner for you two can be sent up here,” he said resignedly “If she is not easy to wake, or if she is ill again, please call me right away,” he added before motioning for Jacques and Prouvaire to follow him out of the room.

“Thank you for everything, Combeferre,” Eponine called after him. She rested her chin on her knees as she watched Enjolras begin to untie the bundle. “Which one do you want to read first?”

“It’s been a while since we’ve had a letter from Aix,” Enjolras said, bringing out an envelope that had been stamped as having been forwarded from Venice. “Judging by the thickness, I imagine that my mother has a lot of news,” he said as he got into bed beside her again.

“Doesn’t she always?” Eponine asked as she broke the seal on the letter and unfolded it to read these words.

_June 10, 1842_

_Aix, Provence_

_Dear Antoine and Eponine,_

_I am addressing this letter to you both since by Neville’s reckoning you two should have already met in Venice by the time this arrives in Italy. I am rather put out that neither of you have stopped by Aix on your respective journeys to Venice? There are coastal roads from Toulon to Nice and the other seaside towns of Italy, and I heard that one can arrange for Marseille to be a port of call before docking at Genoa. You are both greatly missed here, and not just by your children._

_There is no end to the adventures and scrapes that your little Laure gets into. She is making excellent progress with horseback riding, though I sincerely wish she would prefer riding sidesaddle instead of astride especially given her penchant for dresses. As always she spends an inordinate amount of time in our library here, but she’s also insisted on going into town to get prettier books and pamphlets from the booksellers. She has an excellent eye, which I definitely credit to Eponine. I must concede that even though she has thrived here in Aix, she will have no patience with the society here and thus would do much better upon your return to Paris. She asked once, during one of the few times she accompanied me on a call, when some ladies would stop talking of gentlemen and start talking of something else like the news or other interesting matters. As amusing as this was to me, it was quite a shock to the neighbors. All the same I would not trade her earnest and brave spirit, or her penetrating mind for anything._

_Of the three, Julien is still the one who spends the most time in the library. Louis of course has endeavored to get him to enjoy the outdoors more, but he has no more success with Julien than he has with you Antoine at that age. I have suggested that he can sometimes take his preferred volumes with him into the orchard, and that agreement has suited him nicely on most days. When he is not reading, he is asking a thousand questions, and it is no contest as to who he has inherited that quality from. Now and then he can be counted on to play boules with other children, or at least boules after their own fashion as he cannot yet throw anything for a great distance. He serves as quiet company to your cousins and nephews, and they are all willing to defend him from any neighborhood bullies (that is if Laure has not gotten to the scene first). You will be pleased to see that his pallor is banished and that he has put on a little weight. He is such an even-tempered and peaceable child, which makes his company all the more delightful._

_Etienne is also thriving; he has put on more visible weight than his siblings have (how do you ever convince Laure to eat??), and can run a greater distance. He is no longer so anxious at bedtime, and is greatly independent with his evening routine. I had thought, when I last wrote to both of you separately, that his vocabulary was expansive but lately I have been rewarded with his ability to learn both French and Occitan. The unfortunate side of this is that he is also too prone to picking up the less refined words of our patois, and I have had to box the ears of the boys teaching him how to swear. If he has learned any of them, he will not say so readily, for he is proving to be a bit of a trickster. He is all too ready to make his own little investigations and pranks, and to explain his way cheekily when he is caught. Oftentimes he tries Laure’s patience just to see her reaction, and it takes a little effort to manage them both when he is too high-spirited._

_As for Neville he is campaigning to get Gavroche down here for a weekend, and it is possible he will succeed. Louis and I agree that the trip to England has done well for him and has completed the excellent way you both have raised him; I would say he is a man even if a very young one. Louis delights in introducing him to many of the finer minds here in Aix; he is a success in the scientific salons and the drawing rooms. He can also be relied upon to manage the little ones, especially Etienne. I will not preempt his stories since he is also writing even as I am making his missive._

_As for me and your father, we are doing as well as can be expected this summer. The citron crop was especially good this year, so you can expect to bring home many candied citrons when you finally come here for the children. Our other crops are doing excellently, and we can expect a very settled winter. Unless being in Italy has spoiled your palates entirely, I will insist that you eat well and heartily here in Aix. You can expect a good ratatouille upon your return, Antoine. I also have some books and a few lovely shawls for you, Eponine. Surely these can fit in your luggage, or should I have them sent ahead to Azelma and Gavroche in Paris?_

_Do tell us more of Italy. It would be superb if someday we can all take a trip there together, perhaps in another clement summer._

_Your mother and friend,_

_Monique_

Eponine bit her lip as she reached the end of this missive, even as vivid images of her children running about the large yard of the house in Aix suddenly came to mind. When she looked at Enjolras, she saw that his face was also pensive, more so when he reread the letter. “You can see them all too, can’t you?” she asked.

“It is not difficult to envision,” Enjolras said wryly. “Do you remember how our previous trip there was, before Etienne was born?”

“You mean before he was _conceived_ ,” Eponine quipped, shifting in bed such that she was resting against Enjolras’ shoulder. The mention of their youngest child, born less than a year after that summer in Provence, made her feel as if something was pricking in her chest. “He will be rather taller by the time we get back,” she whispered

“You wish we would have seen it?”

“Very much.”

Enjolras folded up the letter and put it on the bedside table. “All the more reason for us to get to the bottom of what is going on here in Italy, so we can head home.”

“Home as in Paris,” Eponine mused, even as she noticed Enjolras’ rather rueful expression. “What is it, Antoine?”

“It’s only a passing, unpleasant thought,” Enjolras said, shaking his head as he put an arm around her waist.

“Oh? Do tell.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “This is not the first time that you have been seriously injured due to my lack of foresight or planning. First the barricade at the Rue de Chanvrerie, then all the unpleasantness of the first legislature campaign---”

“Antoine, stop,” Eponine said, turning to face him as she clasped his hand tightly. “Except for the first, since I didn’t know you then, I went into willingly. Don’t you think I know how danger looks too?”

“Most certainly, but I do not want to have to bring you back to France only as a memory,” Enjolras pointed out. He kissed her hand before meeting her eyes with a look that was both contrite and desperate. “I will not ask you to leave and return to Aix; that would be pointless. I only ask your forgiveness for, once again, having endangered you.”

“I did promise that I would not let you lose me,” Eponine said firmly. In the dim light it was all too easy to recall that evening when she’d first uttered those words as she was trying to calm him down from another bout of nightmares. ‘ _How funny that we must be in this situation again,’_ she thought as she used her free hand to run through his hair.

After a few moments Enjolras relaxed and kissed her lips gently. “I know you will always do what you can to keep that promise,” he said against her mouth. “But as part of that there is one thing you have to do.”

“Which is?”

“Rest easy and rest well.”

Eponine rolled her eyes before obliging by lying down and pulling him down to lie next to her. “Then you and I aren’t going anywhere,” she whispered, moving to pillow her head on his chest.

“I am not sure you should fall asleep once again, at least not without dinner,” Enjolras quipped even as he began to trace lines down her spine.

“I won’t,” Eponine said, finally managing a smile. “We don’t get to be awake and quiet together all that often anymore.”


	58. A Cog Within Larger Cogs

**Chapter 58: A Cog Within Larger Cogs**

“As far as I remember, Combeferre’s orders for you were strictly to rest.” 

“I think I’ve gotten a good night’s worth of it, staying up here all day will just make me more tired, and how can I possibly rest when I can smell a good breakfast being cooked?”

Enjolras rubbed his temples even as he looked straight at Eponine, who was already dressed and seated at the edge of the bed. The morning light lent a rich color to her auburn hair, which she had tied back with a ribbon. ‘ _And yes she is right about breakfast already being prepared downstairs,’_ he thought as he met her eyes. “A wrong move can undo all the progress you’ve made and lay you up for days. That is hardly ideal or even productive on a trip,” he said tersely.

“I s’pose I should be fine as long as I don’t go gallivanting around Florence,” Eponine pointed out. She squeezed Enjolras’ hand lightly. “And I’ll let you know right away if I start feeling poorly or something as terrible as that.”

Enjolras sighed deeply. “Let’s see how you feel after breakfast first,” he said as he helped her to her feet. Inasmuch as he had to admit that Eponine was recovering far more quickly than even he had expected, he still could not entirely quash that frisson of worry that lingered after yesterday/s harrowing events.

The aroma of herbs and tomatoes that he could smell even from the bedroom only grew more pronounced the moment that they both stepped out into the hallway. “Probably someone is cooking a version of that bean stew we had yesterday,” he remarked as they headed to the stairs.

“That would be nice,” she said with a smile. “I liked that very much.”

‘ _Even if it isn’t that dish, it is something to hope for,’_ he thought, taking care to stay close by as they went down the stairs. From the bottom of the stairwell he could hear what sounded like murmurs from the general direction of the kitchen. “Sounds like Combeferre is up and about,” he observed. ‘ _Which is surprising since to my knowledge he was up the whole night caring for a patient too,’_ he thought.

Enjolras had to pause at the sight that greeted them in this sunlit room; amid the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, Combeferre was in his shirtsleeves and sipping coffee while making middling conversation with Prouvaire and Courfeyrac, who were still in the previous day’s clothes but rather more disheveled. Nearby, Grantaire was rubbing his eyes while Jacques was snoring while using his elbows as a pillow. “I take that last night was very eventful,” he greeted blasely.

“If you call dealing with Griffiths’ recriminations eventful; I left him to rest upstairs for the time being and someone will bring him coffee and _cornetti_ ,” Combeferre said ruefully before giving Eponine a rather querulous look. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I felt up to having breakfast, and I could lie down between now and lunch,” Eponine pointed out with a shrug. “Besides I think some good food should fix me up just right.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes. “You deal with her,” he said to Enjolras. “In the meantime, our friends here certainly had a more interesting evening,” he added, pointing to Prouvaire.

“An impromptu invitation to read my poetry,” Prouvaire said, smiling brightly despite his haggard mien. “The Florentines now are a better audience than they ever were to poor Dante.”

“And I went along to provide documentation of the fact,” Grantaire chimed in, now grinning unrepentantly as he set his hands on the table. “It was a grand evening for the Muses and their humble patrons!”

“And I s’pose now my youngest brother is counted as one of them too?” Eponine asked, gesturing to Jacques.

“It would be a shame to have him staying in this villa instead of enjoying the wonders of Florence,” Courfeyrac answered. “Hence I went along to act as a chaperone.”

“I see,” Enjolras deadpanned, wrinkling his nose at the fumes of alcohol that he could still smell on his brothers-in-law and his friends. “Was imbibing a necessary part of this venture?”

Grantaire burst out laughing. “Enjolras, we are in Tuscany. We cannot properly appreciate the beauty of this region without embracing even its viticulture!”

“If there is someone to blame for this, it is Jehan,” Eponine said, pointing to the poet. “How could you let them drink such inferior wine? You of all people should know better!”

“Me? Why?” Prouvaire spluttered.

“You grew up in _Bordeaux_! That is the home of the best wines!”

“I’m a poet, not a sommelier!”

“As lovely as the Tuscan wines are, nothing compares to the Chateau Lafite, the first red wine of France and thus the one with the most time to become matured and refined,” Courfeyrac said, miming raising a glass.

“The spirits of Champagne have more life and verve in them,” Prouvaire argued. “The work of Dom Perignon is poetry in a bottle.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “I did not know you were partial to those sorts of wines.”

“Your sister is.” Prouvaire said, moving his elbows out of the way as a cook set down a large pot of bean stew on the table. “There is no better wine for toasting a successful opening night at the Odeon, or the close of a good play’s run.”

It was at that moment that Enjolras caught sight of Coquelin now entering the kitchen. “Good day to you, Citizen,” he greeted cordially.

“Good morning to you, at least those who can hear it,” Coquelin replied, critically eyeing a still dozing Jacques. “It would appear that we have a lot of work cut out for us in light of what happened yesterday.”

“Before we get to that, we need your opinion to settle an important question,” Grantaire said. “What is your opinion of Tuscan wines in comparison with French ones?” he added, only to have Courfeyrac elbow him while Prouvaire groaned.

Coquelin’s smile was wolfish as he wiped his monocle before donning it. “The red wine of Vaumorillon in Burgundy holds a special place in my heart, but I will not let you leave Florence without tasting the red wines from the Carmignano region.”

Grantaire let out a shout of triumph that had Courfeyrac and Prouvaire groaning while Combeferre merely shrugged at Enjolras and Eponine. “Variety is the spice of life, and the life of wine!” Grantaire crowed. “Now what was the other important business?”

The consul’s face was grim as he set out some papers on the kitchen table. “These are the police reports from yesterday. It was a good thing the police had some presence at the fete, or it would have ended in far more bloodshed. Save for one notable exception, all the gunmen were Florentines. Thus they will be dealt with by the local authorities.”

“The notable exception being Lord Griffiths?” Eponine asked dryly.

“Yes. And the English consul here has disavowed his activities. Once he is fit to travel, he will be sent back to England,” Coquelin said. “The mystery still remains as to why a member of the English peerage would engage in such disruptive activities here in Italy, especially in league with Florentines who were found to be agents for the Papal States.”

“Is it possible that Lord Griffiths is a recusant?” a voice chimed in. All eyes turned to Lamarre, who was standing in the doorway and also looking as if he had a sleepless night. “That would not be outside the realm of possibility.”

“What is a recusant?” Courfeyrac asked, stopping in the middle of filling everyone’s plates with bean stew.

“It more properly refers to an English citizen who does not worship with the Church of England, at least before they made new laws allowing for Catholics to live a bit more freely,” Eponine explained. “But that doesn’t mean they would allow Catholics to become Prime Ministers or even marry into the Royal Family.”

“So you’re suggesting that this has to do with religion?” Coquelin clarified.

“As Citizen Lamarre said, it could be the case,” Eponine replied. “I don’t know what the end of such plans would be though with those laws in place. Why do such a thing?”

‘ _Because similar affairs are underway here on the Continent,’_ Enjolras realized, looking up from his own plate of food. “Legislation is one thing, influence is another,” he mused aloud. “Religion can lead to factions within royal courts and parliaments; such things are contentious in places such as Spain wherein the line between religion and state is more easily blurred and a policy may be made to reflect theocratic leanings. In places like England where the lines are clearer, influence is the only thing that sects can gain and wield in order to protect their followers or advance their temporal interests.”

Coquelin looked at Enjolras keenly. “I thought you were a professed Catholic?”

“I have good reason to believe in God, but worship, especially blind worship, is not something I understand,” Enjolras replied.

“I did not think that Lord Griffiths would be the sort to act out of any religious fervor, but stranger things have happened,” Combeferre asked. “I did not find any rosary beads or a crucifix or any religious article on his person.”

“Maybe someone should search his belongings in his accommodations; that might be possible to arrange with a warrant,” Courfeyrac suggested. He looked up as a thumping sound came from above them. “Did you get a pachyderm in here?”

‘ _No, only a very angry man,’_ Enjolras thought, looking at Combeferre knowingly before they both excused himself to head upstairs. He followed the physician to a room at the end of the second-floor hallway. “Far from the rest of the house. Good thinking,” he noted.

“Which makes his ruckus more concerning,” Combeferre said before opening the door. “Lord Griffiths, you should be back in bed, please!” he called more sternly.

“I will not be starved up here!” Lord Griffiths roared from where he had maneuvered himself into a large armchair. His left leg was swathed in bandages and immobilized by a splint. His eyes narrowed upon seeing Enjolras. “So I heard your whore is still alive?”

Enjolras’ fists clenched as he leveled a look at the English noble. “That is very unseemly to hear from you,” he said coldly.

“I am only saying the truth, Monsieur,” Lord Griffiths sneered, crossing his arms.

“Indeed. Could you say the same for when you declared your purpose here?” Enjolras asked. “Unless instigating unrest and frustrated homicide are part of your business matters.”

Lord Griffiths paled for a moment before looking at Enjolras haughtily. “These are personal affairs, you busybody.”

“I believe they ceased to be mere personal affairs as of yesterday afternoon,” the younger man pointed out. “From what I understand you now present a particular problem to the French and English consulates, as well as to the authorities here in Florence.”

“From where I am seated, you are the particular problem and have been for some years now,” Lord Griffiths countered. “Your presence here in Italy will stoke much unrest and foment.”

“Yet the initial target of your plan was Citizen Prouvaire; I take that your injuring my wife was only incidental to your plans,” Enjolras said calmly. “This leads me to one of two conclusions: you have a vested interest in eliminating a good man of letters or your eliminating him is only meant to be a distraction or even a provocation.”

“How dare you come to such a brazen conclusion?”

“Do you have facts that could refute that?” 

Lord Griffiths chuckled, stopping only thanks to his inadvertently shifting his injured leg. He winced before continuing. “And what use would they be to you, a mere upstart from Provence? These are affairs too mighty for you to understand.”

Enjolras bit the inside of his cheek at this jibe, even as he glanced at Combeferre’s irritated and grim expression. “Our respective origins are not material to the present situation; we are both foreigners in a strange land. My alliances and ties here are clear, and your actions have also delineated yours.”

“Then what of it?”

“My only interest is in knowing the reasons for it.”

“You are not the only one who can make arrangements and plots throughout Europe. I know you have conspired with that troublemaker Giuseppe Mazzini,” Lord Griffiths sneered. “You should probably disavow him while you still can, before his harebrained plan sullies you and of course the French as a whole.”

‘ _Yet even as he speaks the English government is surely facing some backlash for their interference in an exile’s correspondence,’_ Enjolras thought, willing himself to keep a straight face. “From a logical standpoint however, your sudden alliance with agents here is more incongruous with your political and business interests,” he said.

“Who says it is? I make a profit while furthering a cause.”

“And what cause might that be?”

“Order,” Lord Griffiths said. “Though you French would not understand that, with how you have given over governance of everything to the rabble.”

Combeferre shook his head even as he went to help Lord Griffiths reposition his leg more comfortably. “Enjolras, he is recalcitrant. There is no use getting any information out of him,” he pointed out. “We’re better off returning to breakfast, and having some sent up for him.”

“You intend to keep me as a medical prisoner of sorts?”

“That would depend on your recovery as well as the decision of the authorities regarding your deportation,” Combeferre pointed out more firmly.

The English lord burst out laughing once more. “You are keeping the wrong man imprisoned. All of this is only a cog within larger cogs.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this obtuse figure of speech. “Explain yourself.”

“Oh I do not need to. The one who needs to be imprisoned is, or was, under your consul’s purview,” Lord Griffiths said with a triumphant smile. “To make your wild goose chase easier, I will tell you this: he should already under the purview of the consul over in Rome!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the wines mentioned here are actual historical types.


	59. Where All Roads Lead

**Chapter 59: Where All Roads Lead**

_June 20, 1842_

_Venice, Italy_

_Dear friend,_

_I am writing mainly to let you know that we will be departing this city for our next stop, immediately after I post this missive. The skillful hands accompanying us have definitely ensured the recovery necessary prior to this journey. They have much to tell you soon, either in letters of their own or when we all next meet._

_I have a few petty affairs to relate to you, which are not suitable to expend paper and ink on. You may seek me out in the vicinity of the Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi when you arrive at your destination._

_Regards,_

_V.C._

This short note accompanied a packet of some seemingly chatty and inconsequential letters delivered by a Venetian courier to the villa in Florence on the 23rd of June. ‘ _Of course, it is only trivial if you aren’t supposed to know exactly what is meant in the lines_ ,’ Eponine could not help thinking some four days later as she finished rereading the note once again and slipped it into her pocket before looking around the crowded Roman street where she and her companions were asking for directions to the French consulate to the Papal States. “What exactly is the Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi?” she asked Enjolras, who was perusing a borrowed phrasebook.

Enjolras paused for a few moments to translate this silently. “It literally means ‘the fountain of four rivers’”. He gestured to where LeClerc, with Prouvaire’s help, was talking with a street vendor some paces away. “Certainly, one of them will know where that is located.”

“I don’t know how one can manage to keep one’s head clear in this city full of ruins,” Eponine remarked under her breath even as LeClerc and Prouvaire returned to the group. “Are we hopelessly lost?” she asked.

“On the contrary we are heading in the right direction; the embassy is on the upside of the Spanish steps, in full view of the Villa Medici and the church of Trinita dei Monti,” LeClerc said. “We are though, closer to the bottom of the steps at the Piazza di Spagna. I didn’t notice it before since this is only my second time to be in Rome.”

“And how many steps are those?” Jacques asked worriedly.

“If my reading serves me right, 135,” Combeferre replied. “We can climb it at a healthful pace,” he added on seeing Jacques’ look of dismay.

“It is quite a view,” Prouvaire told him. “Getting to the top of this hill will be worthwhile.” 

“We should count ourselves lucky that these are the only steps to navigate, unlike Aeneas sailing all the way from Troy to this land, if Virgil is to be believed,” Grantaire chimed in.

“Such grand old steps will provide an easier climb than say, our younger and more untamed Montmartre,” Courfeyrac said reassuringly as he tapped Jacques’ shoulders. “We mean to march, not to race.”

“It is a completely different affair when carrying our valises,” Lamarre muttered, glancing at all the luggage they had brought. “Unless we can find porters?”

Riva shook his head. “We shall have to be our own pack mules.”

“Then it’s just as well that none of us packed more than we could carry,” Eponine said as she snatched up her own valise. She looked to Enjolras, who had pocketed his phrasebook and was now shouldering his luggage. “Is something the matter?” she asked, noticing his grave mien.

“Our passage here was too easy,” Enjolras pointed out. “After that tumult in Florence, it would have been reasonable for the authorities to check us en route here, even if only once during our stopover in Viterbo yesterday.”

“Do you think with all this attention on Citizen Mazzini, and deporting that awful Lord Griffiths, and heaven knows what else, that anyone would notice us coming?”

“This isn’t just anyone we are up against, if Lord Griffiths is to be believed. I do not like that he was able to work so easily in Florence; clearly he has allies or at least someone of influence working with him.”

Eponine bit her lip. “Might it be Citizen D’Aramitz?”

“I am disinclined to think that it is solely him we must contend with,” Enjolras replied as they now reached the bottom of the famed steps. He blasely surveyed the staircase and shook his head. “We can’t carry these all the way up there; the steps are too narrow,” he observed, nodding to their companions. “Jacques and I can go with LeClerc to present our credentials and letters to the ambassador, and we will ask for assistance to get all our luggage up the hill.”

Courfeyrac whistled as he saw the steps. “While you do that, the rest of us will take turns exercising up and down this incline. It should be commensurate to the mental exertion of dealing with the ambassador!”

“I’ll do that, if only for the view,” Eponine decided. ‘ _Though I probably will stay at the top of the hill for a while just to see it all,’_ she thought as she set down her valise and raced up the steps. The day was rather mild for summer, and she could feel a breeze rising as she reached the first landing, only to see Enjolras and Courfeyrac suddenly run past her, the latter laughing and whooping joyously. “Oh I’ll get to you yet!” she shouted before picking up the pace, maintaining a good distance from LeClerc and Jacques. By the time she got to the top of the hill, she was nearly winded and breathless, but felt as if the lassitude of the previous days had been thoroughly banished.

She laughed as she saw Enjolras and Courfeyrac already waiting there. “How did I do?”

“Admirably,” Enjolras replied, smiling broadly as he touched the back of her neck. He nodded to Jacques and LeClerc, who had just also reached the top of the stairs. “What should we know about the ambassador?”

“I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting Ambassador Gregoire Philippon in person; he is a recent appointee to this post after his predecessor Leopold Bacque was recalled due to a sudden illness,” LeClerc confessed. “He is reputed though to be a straightforward man.”

‘ _That should be good,’_ Eponine thought before Enjolras, Jacques, and LeClerc made their way to the French embassy, which seemed to be situated at a grand house near the church. For a few moments she looked out over the city, from to the steps stretching down to the Piazza di Spagna below, all the way to the dome of St. Peter’s basilica all the way across River Tiber. She glanced at Courfeyrac, who was rolling up his sleeves. “I s’pose you never thought you’d go to Rome like this?” she asked him.

“Accompanying my best friends on a diplomatic intrigue?” Courfeyrac quipped. “I could think of worse ways.”

“I always thought that if some of us would go to Italy it would be for a more fun reason like wanting to see the art and beautiful sights,” Eponine said. “I don’t think even Grantaire and Prouvaire got any work done.”

“Ah, a false presumption!" Grantaire exclaimed as he came up the last steps. “I for one have the germ of a fantastic article on the continued Greek spirit of Florentine art.”

“I have the begninings of a verse cycle celebrating the _Risorgimento_ ,” Prouvaire chimed in. “It will be added to, regardless of how the events will play out.”

Courfeyrac glanced around. “Here they are now. And I do not think it went well.”

Eponine turned to see Enjolras, Jacques, and LeClerc returning to the steps. “What happened?” she asked, noticing how Enjolras looked stern while Jacques and LeClerc seemed genuinely puzzled.

“The Ambassador won’t receive us,” Jacques replied.

“Perhaps he is just busy,” Prouvaire suggested.

“He _will not_ receive us,” LeClerc clarified. “We were not even allowed in the building; he has ordered his guards to specifically turn us away, including the rest of you,” he added, gesturing to Courfeyrac, Eponine, Prouvaire and Grantaire.

“How could he do that, you are a diplomat too?” Eponine asked.

“He just did, and Citizen Lamarre is banned too. The ban also applies to Citizen Combeferre as well,” LeClerc fumed. “This has to be a mistake.”

“Not from Citizen D’Aramitz’s point of view,” Enjolras pointed out. “It is more likely that he headed straight here after fleeing Venice.”

“Considering that he was to be arrested for conspiring with the Papal States, this explanation stands to reason,” Courfeyrac said. “He moved rather quickly.”

‘ _Almost too quickly,’_ Eponine thought, taking in the disappointed and worried looks of her companions. “He wasn’t the only one moving fast; I think that our English friends are here too,” she said as she brought out the note from her pocket and unfolded it. “How far from here is the Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi?”

LeClerc looked out from the top of the steps and pointed southwest. “About half an hour’s walk from here. I’ll give Citizen Lamarre some directions,” he said.

‘ _Hopefully Victoria’s own journey has been more successful,’_ Eponine thought as they all descended the steps again to relay the news to Combeferre, Lamarre, and Riva. After agreeing to rendezvous at their accommodations not far from the Spanish steps, Eponine left with Enjolras and Lamarre to walk to the Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi.

On the way there, Eponine could not help but noticed that Lamarre seemed ill at ease. “Are you unsure about the directions from Citizen LeClerc?” she asked him.

Lamarre’s brow furrowed. “Did Citizenness Calamy say to meet her _at_ the fountain itself?”

“No, she just said in the area of it.”

“That is very vague of her.”

“I s’pose she wouldn’t want to meet us in such an open space after everything, and she might give us some sign where to find her,” Eponine suggested. Even as she said this she caught sight of a woman walking by, carrying what appeared to be a market basket filled with fabrics and sewing implements. Most of her figure was hidden by a patterned shawl and her face was mostly hidden by a bonnet with blue rosettes. ‘ _Only one person would carry that, and wear that hat in one go!’_ Eponine realized even as she stepped away from her companions. “Chetta!” she called.

Musichetta nearly dropped her basket as she whirled around. “Ponine! What are you doing here in Rome?” she shouted as she hurried over. “I mean I knew you were coming, with Citizen Enjolras and of course the others, but here already?” she added, nodding to Enjolras and Lamarre.

“We just arrived, but we seem to have a problem,” Eponine said. She squeezed her friend’s arms. “It’s good to see you here!”

Enjolras nodded to Musichetta. “Who else is with you?” he asked in Occitan, taking care to lower his voice for good measure.

Musichetta looked around before motioning for Eponine, Enjolras and Lamarre to follow her to under a shop awning. “Joly, Bossuet, and Nicholine are with me of course, and the two Calamys,” she replied. “But why all the secrecy? Are you being followed?”

“We aren’t sure, but one thing is this; the ambassador isn’t receiving us,” Lamarre explained.

Musichetta’s jaw dropped. “Why, he personally received us when we arrived! Not the Calamys of course, since they went to their own embassy. But he seemed perfectly congenial when we saw him.”

“Then something must have changed between now and then, or he has received some mischievous intelligence,” Enjolras concluded. “Are you all billeted together?”

“Yes, just within sight of that fountain of four rivers,” Musichetta said. She gestured to her basket. “I’m finishing up some trimmings for clothes; did you know that you have to wear black here to do anything official with these priests and bishops? Nicholine and Citizeness Calamy asked me for some help there, and I am sure you will need some too.”

“I s’pose I should, I didn’t bring a single stitch of black since you know I hardly have any,” Eponine said. “Do you know where the gentlemen can find something too?” she asked.

“The rules are less strict when it comes to the gentlemen; you only have to remember not to dress too brightly,” Musichetta prattled on as she led them up a side street that opened out onto a square dominated by a large fountain. She entered a brick house, languidly waving her way past the concierge and the porters at the entrance, where she led her companions up to the second floor. She quickly knocked on one of the doors. “Patrice! I have a surprise for you!” she called.

“What sort of surprise? It might upset my humors,” Joly replied from outside.

“I’ve never heard you make that diagnosis about old friends, Joly,” Enjolras deadpanned.

The door quickly opened to reveal Joly, who was in his shirtsleeves and looked as if he had just woken up. “Come inside, you three!” he greeted cheerily before hugging Enjolras and then Eponine. “When did you get to Rome?” he asked, clasping Lamarre’s arm. “Bossuet, Nicholine, see who’s here!”

“As to your question, we’ve only been here since seven in the morning----” Eponine began before she was suddenly pulled into Bossuet’s then Nicholine’s tight hugs. “How have you all been?” she asked once she was able to step back from her friends.

“The extra days in Venice were worthwhile; I learned something of how they make those colored glass canes for mosaics, and that same technique can be applied for more showy glass pieces,” Bossuet said proudly. “Though of course I will only divulge these in person to the Pontmercys when we all return.”

“Trade secrets, I see,” Lamarre concurred. “Where are the Calamys?”

Nicholine pointed to a connecting door. “They should be along in a moment. How I wish you’d stayed a little longer in Venice; you would have enjoyed the concerts that we were treated to. And how is Laurent?”

“Missing you, but his trip to Florence had some results,” Eponine said, remembering what Grantaire had said earlier in the morning. She looked up as the connecting door opened and Victoria Calamy stepped out. Something about the Englishwoman seemed more careworn and tired than before, such that it took Eponine a moment to compose herself. “Surprised to see us?” she greeted.

Victoria eyed Eponine warily. “How did you find your way here?”

Musichetta raised her hand. “We met in the street.”

“As it would appear, but didn’t I say that we should meet at the fountain?” the older woman asked, gesturing to outside the window.

“You said _near_ the fountain, not at it,” Eponine pointed out. “I could go right outside again if that is what you wish.”

Victoria smiled wryly. “There is no need for that. When did you get to Rome?”

“Just now,” Eponine said. “You said you had a lot to talk about.”

Victoria looked to the apartment’s main door. “Make sure that is locked,” she instructed Bossuet, who was nearest it. She sat down heavily in an armchair. “All was well when we left Venice; the patricians already have their course set and I would not want to be an Austrian in that city soon. It is a completely different story here in Rome.”

“Yes, we were not received in our own embassy here,” Lamarre said.

Victoria’s brow furrowed. “Just now?”

“Yes. We would still be there now if we were let in.”

“Then that proves that thought that indeed, that man D’Aramitz is here or if not him, some of his agents,” Victoria rubbed her temples. “As for me and Peter, our own meeting with the English consul was rather…brief,” she added, glancing towards the other room.

‘ _Maybe he is not entirely well yet,’_ Eponine realized. “What do you mean by brief?”

“Cordial. Though I expected a little more by way of assistance.”

“I s’pose it might be because Lord Griffiths was causing trouble with the help of some people in Florence.”

Victoria’s jaw dropped at the mention of this noble. “What? He is in Italy?!”

“Is or was; he was to be deported when we left Florence,” Enjolras informed her. “He claims however to be working with someone here in Rome.”

“That someone, we have not found yet. It is not certain that it is D’Aramitz,” Victoria said. “I was able to ascertain that there are English agents here. Some are mercenaries, others are truly recusant or at least claim to profess as Catholics. We need to find their head.”

Eponine bit her lip even as she heard the tolling of bells from the general direction of Saint Peter’s basilica, which could also be seen from the hotel room window. “The head then is certainly in one of the embassies.”

“Most likely yours.”

“I s’pose that would explain it. But how to get in?”

Bossuet raised his hand. “We could, since we were received.”

“That’s true but how long would it take for Ambassador Philippon to realize who you are with?” Lamarre asked. “We need someone who will not so easily attract suspicion.”

“Like a Roman perhaps,” Nicholine suggested.

“We don’t have a Roman but we have a Venetian,” Eponine said. “Citizen Riva is still with us, and he’s off with the others getting our accommodations set up.”

Victoria gaped at her in disbelief. “Him? That Venetian fop?”

“Well more than a fop, I s’pose,” Eponine said. “Maybe if you come with us to where LeClerc has gotten us set up near the Spanish Steps, we might figure out something useful for him to do.” 


	60. A Rebellious Wine

**Chapter 60: A Rebellious Wine**

“The point is to get Ambassador Philippon so thoroughly, insensibly drunk to the point he will have to spend the night _here_ in our apartments?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“This is one of your best schemes yet. When do we begin?”

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face at Courfeyrac’s question. “The first phase of it is already underway; Citizen Riva is already on his way to the embassy with Joly, Combeferre and Grantaire to give his invitation to dinner. It is likely that he will receive an answer in the affirmative.” He looked around the large apartment overlooking the Spanish Steps, which he and some of his friends had just finished straightening up after the chaos of their sudden arrival. For now their entire group was resting, save for Prouvaire who had converted one corner into a writing nook. Only Jacques was absent, having opted to sleep in one of the other rooms. “What remains to us is preparing the rest of this stage, as you would say, then making ourselves scarce until he comes to his senses in the morning,” Enjolras continued.

“This Philippon must not be much of a diplomat if he can be readily taken in by these measures. One ought to be more careful in these foreign courts,” Admiral Calamy pointed out from where he was ensconced on a chaise. His injured shoulder was still in a sling and bandages, but he had regained the accustomed ruddiness of his cheeks. He glanced towards a door leading to an adjoining room, where Victoria and the women had gone to do some planning of their own. “I should not be surprised if he turns out to be another libertine like that Brisbois.”

“I doubt it. Every man has his price, and like many respectable Frenchmen, Ambassador Philippon’s price is food,” LeClerc said. “Even in this peninsula of exquisite cuisine, he longs for a literal taste of home, which in his case is the Ile de France.”

“He would be suspicious if the entire dinner was made up of dishes from there, so we ought to throw in a touch of the Italian,” Bossuet pointed out. “Though I think since we _are_ in Italy and so close to the Mediterranean, we might find it easier to recreate Provencal dishes than those from the north of France.”

“That would depend on his opinion of Midi cooking,” Lamarre said with unmitigated disgust. “I would be the first to admit that Parisians would be unkind about it.”

At that moment the side door opened and Eponine peered in. “Antoine, have you got a moment?” she asked, looking at Enjolras. “It’s a rather private matter.”

“Excuse us for a moment,” Enjolras said to his friends as he went to Eponine. He followed her into the next room and shut the door behind him. “What is it?” he asked her in Occitan.

Eponine brought out a small vial from her pocket and put it in his hands. “I found this among your things. Laudanum?” she replied also in Occitan.

‘ _I neglected to mention that,’_ Enjolras realized, looking down at the medication. “My troubles with sleeping reached an alarming extent, so I consulted with a physician in Madrid. I’ve only had one occasion to use it.”

She bit her lip. “You could have mentioned it sooner.”

“I put it out of my mind. My apologies for that.” He weighed the vial in his hand, recalling now the horrific dreams he had during the crossing from Valencia. “I would not advise using this though for our plan tonight.”

“Why not? It would speed the process.”

“But possibly bring about a stupor. Even our physician friends do not use this tincture for just any patient, more so for one who does not actually need it.”

Eponine shrugged. “I s’pose we can’t have him accidentally forming a habit the way that Dr. Maturin did.” She glanced back to where Musichetta was animatedly explaining something to Victoria and Nicholine. “I think we’re going to make onion soup, and there’s a good place to get veal or some other sort of meat. Maybe we’ll get to make some salad too.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Enjolras said, even as he heard more voices from the room he had just left. ‘ _That is the sound of an affirmative reply,’_ he thought as he opened the door again to let him and Eponine into the living room. “How did you fare?” he asked the newcomers. 

“A little too well. The Ambassador has also asked me and Musichetta to join the dinner with himself and Citizen Riva,” Joly said, looking flustered.

“So much the better, to handle the inevitable inebriation,” Combeferre remarked dryly as he took off his coat. “We will be having the dinner here?”

“It is necessary,” Enjolras replied. “Is something the matter?” he asked Riva, who seemed even more flustered than the rest.

“He has a problem only Bacchus can solve,” Grantaire explained. “As it turns out our tight-lipped ambassador is also a worshipper of the vine and the press.”

Courfeyrac snorted. “Shouldn’t this make our task easier?”

“Yes, if I knew what sort of wine to get for this plan of ours,” Riva said. “Of course in Venice we import wines from all around Europe, but I cannot quite tell one French wine from another.”

“That would depend partly on the food being served,” Courfeyrac pointed out. “Will you be serving meat or fish?” he asked, looking at Eponine.

“Meat; I wouldn’t trust fish unless I know the seller,” Eponine replied. “But we may as well get cheese, fruit, and maybe some sort of dessert to round it all out.”

“I saw a place where we can order some ices; those should serve to end the meal nicely,” Riva answered. “But what of the wine though?”

“Since we’re serving meat, it has to be a red wine, and only a red wine,” Musichetta said as she and the other women now joined the rest of the group. “I am sorry Nicholine, I know you are partial to rose wine, but that isn’t an option tonight.”

Nicholine huffed and crossed her arms. “Well at least I am not Cosette, who I know drinks only white wine.”

“I didn’t know that the Baronne Pontmercy had that peculiarity,” Lamarre quipped. “What about the Baron?”

“He is only too happy to share,” Courfeyrac answered sagely. “I have tried extolling to them the glories of the reds of Bordeaux or even those of Burgundy, but alas.”

“Your favorite wine is much too pricey for this; were we to _all_ share in the bottle I should gladly share in that Chateau Lafite of yours,” Combeferre argued. “We could go for something just as exquisite but less pricey from Touraine.”

“Such as?”

“I’ve always been partial to a Bourgeil or Chinon from that area.”

“That’s sacrilegious. If we’re going through all this effort to get some wine, we may as well go for a well-known wine from Rheims or even the Champagne region,” Bossuet pointed out.

“Whatever you do, make sure it is a good solid red and nothing sparkling,” Prouvaire said, grabbing his friend’s arm. “This is an intrigue of the highest order and not a party.”

“Champagne is all well and good like other well-known French wines, but he probably gets those all the time from the markets here. We ought to treat him with something rare and yet just as tantalizing to the senses,” Victoria argued. “I am sure we can find some other regional wine even here in Italy. Personally, I prefer a red from Savoy.”

“Savoy, really now? If I’m getting a red, I’m looking no further than a Beaujolais,” Musichetta sniffed. “You can’t go wrong with a Lyonnaise wine with a hint of fruit.”

“Those are palatable and relatively easy to digest. Though for someone of a hearty constitution a wine from Anjou would not be amiss,” Joly remarked.

“Wines from Anjou are for the tables of kings; our Plantagenet kings imported them to England,” Admiral Calamy pointed out. “We could go with those.”

Riva scratched his head confusedly under this whirlwind of advice. “Do you have any personal preferences?” he asked Enjolras. “Any wines that you yourself favor?”

Much to Enjolras’ mortification, nearly everyone in the room burst out laughing. “You’re asking the one man who did not drink wine even at _his own wedding_ ,” Grantaire chuckled. “When was the last time you even imbibed, Enjolras?”

“Oh, I would remember. About three summers ago,” Eponine chimed in mischievously. “We were in Provence then.”

Enjolras felt his cheeks grow hot even as he met Eponine’s amused smile amid their friends’ exclamations of disbelief. “I was not about to tell my own parents to put the wine away, in _their_ house,” he pointed out.

“This is a rare occasion. Do tell what happened!” Courfeyrac insisted. “You’ve been holding out on us all these years!”

“I can be certain of one thing, you will not find that particular wine here in Rome,” Enjolras said more seriously. “In the interest of time and financial constraints, we should focus on two or three varieties, and let availability decide the matter.”

“Here in Italy the most readily available French wines are from Bordeaux and Burgundy. Champagne can also be found but at a higher price,” LeClerc said. He nodded to Grantaire. “Care to join us this time?”

“Gladly. Anything else we need to get?” Grantaire asked.

Nicholine quickly wrote down a list and handed it to her husband along with two baskets that Musichetta had retrieved. “Head straight back here, you hear me? We need time to get everything together and actually cook.”

“I aim not to disappoint,” Grantaire said, bowing with a theatrical flourish before bringing LeClerc and Riva out of the room with him.

Once the door shut, Lamarre eyed Prouvaire curiously. “What did you mean by sparkling wine as not being suitable to this occasion?”

“It would be a waste to confine a lively beverage to only a few glasses,” Prouvaire said, ducking his head timidly. “Even if it does go to the head faster.”

“A lesson learned from your own nuptials?” Courfeyrac quipped, wiggling his eyebrows.

“To be more to the point, the aftermath,” Enjolras muttered, seeing his brother-in-law blush harder from this query. He still could remember all too clearly what had happened the day after Prouvaire and Azelma had gotten married; what had promised to be a peaceful morning soon turned into hours of locating various friends and acquaintances in various states of indisposition and dishevelment in every neighborhood of Paris. ‘ _At least the newlyweds then were spared the worst of the sights,’_ he thought as the rest of their group soon drifted off to rest, read, or continue making other preparations for the evening.

After an hour, Grantaire returned with Riva and LeClerc. The three men had with them the baskets loaded with ingredients as well as two large loaves of bread and three bottles of wine. “The fumes of Burgundy win the day!” Grantaire declared as he set the bottles on the table.

Eponine scrambled down from where she was seated near a window to examine the bottles. “Red wine from Ollivoles?” she asked. “Something about that is familiar.”

“It is said to be very heady, and will suit our purposes well,” Riva said with a shrug.

“I remember now, Eponine. Your sister told me once that your father preferred to serve Burgundy wines in the inn,” Prouvaire said, looking up from his writing.

“I s’pose you mean a watered Burgundy and charging five sous for it all.” Eponine frowned as she set down the bottle she had been examining in favor of picking up one of the baskets of food. “We’ll have a feast in no time, if you don’t bother us,” she said tersely before carrying the food through to the apartment’s kitchen in the next room.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at Prouvaire, who swallowed guiltily. “The less said about our father-in-law, the better,” he deadpanned.

“Azelma seemed to make light of it, when she told me,” Prouvaire pointed out. “I will definitely apologize to Eponine later.”

Combeferre sighed deeply as he pocketed his watch, which he’d been winding. “In the event that Ambassador Philippon is immovable, what will be our recourse?”

“We still have to bring D’Aramitz to justice,” Courfeyrac pointed out. “Somehow, some way he has to be brought back to France even if we have to bring him back to Florence or Venice to go through the deportation procedures.”

“What if this Philippon is protecting D’Aramitz? What is our recourse then?” Lamarre asked agitatedly. “We might have to return home empty-handed.”

“Not entirely so; we can spend time to collect evidence of his misdeeds here, enough for our Home Office to come up with a more formal extradition order,” Enjolras said. “That recourse is time-consuming and by the time it is executed, he will surely have done more damage. We have no other opportunity but this one to foil his plans, or if not his, then those of his masters.”

“We are mice in a lion’s den,” Bossuet said gravely. “We shall have to learn to roar.”

Enjolras smiled at this image as he retrieved his book of Italian phrases and endeavored to commit more of them to memory even as the air in the apartment soon filled with the aromas of roasted meat and herbs. ‘ _Clearly a cause of distraction,’_ he thought, seeing his companions begin to grow restive and talk of food. Eventually he saw Jacques emerge from another room, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Are you feeling any better?” Enjolras asked.

“I’m hungry,” Jacques said. “What are they cooking?”

“Bait for a cat,” Courfeyrac said. “But if it isn’t to your liking, then we can probably find some _trattoria_ to sup at tonight.”

“Yet one must be prepared to stay out indefinitely, or perhaps retire to our lodgings near the fountain,” Admiral Calamy pointed out. “We cannot risk this plan miscarrying by an inadvertent entrance or exit.”

“Apart from Joly, Musichetta, and Riva, who else needs to be here?” LeClerc asked.

“Us two, since we are actual diplomats,” Lamarre said. “And of course Enjolras and Courfeyrac since they can help us out with the questioning and telling him the important news from Spain and Paris.”

Jacques shrugged. “I guess that means my sister is staying too.”

‘ _A foregone conclusion,’_ Enjolras thought. A glance at Combeferre was enough to inform him that his friend would also be staying concealed on the premises while the dinner proceeded. “What about you, Bossuet?”

“I think I’d like to see more of Rome by moonlight, then make a stop here later to collect my two good friends,” Bossuet replied. He nodded to the poet. “I could use a poetic commentary.”

“And a master of the classics,” Prouvaire said, gesturing to Grantaire. “If this plan finishes early enough, you might be able to join us too,” he added, looking to Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Joly.

“We might be too merry with wine to be of use,” Joly said. “Maybe some other evening, which I am sure there will be more of.”

“As for the rest of us, we have to be here when the Ambassador wakes,” Enjolras said. ‘ _Which may not be till morning,’_ he realized ruefully even as his companions continued to talk of running up and down the Spanish Steps, dancing by columns and fountains, and seeing what they could of the city after sunset. He looked out the window over the still bright afternoon, even as the churches began to toll the hour for Vespers. ‘ _Perhaps some other day for us as well,’_ he thought.

At length the side door swung open and Victoria stepped out. “All that is left is the onion soup, and pouring over the salad, but we’re mostly done with cooking.” She nodded to the Admiral. “It’s been a long day. We should have dinner in our rooms.”

“As will we, after our own fashion!” Grantaire said, now seizing Nicholine as she emerged from the kitchen. He laughed as Nicholine shrieked in mock-protest as he carried her out of the apartment. “Never mind us, everyone!”

“We should be thankful then that our room is quite far from hers,” Victoria said petulantly as she helped Admiral Calamy to his feet. “Good luck with your plan,” she added as she helped her husband out the door.

Prouvaire nodded to Bossuet. “We’d better help them out. Come on,” he said as he got to his feet. “You too, Jacques.”

“But I smell something good!” Jacques protested, running out after Prouvaire and Bossuet. “You won’t stay for that?”

Enjolras quickly shut the door after Jacques before looking to the remainder of the group. “Silence will be imperative, at least till we are sure that the deed is done,” he said, looking first to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, then to Joly and Riva.

“We’ll give you the signal,” Riva promised. “What about the rest of you?”

“Going about in our stocking-feet if we must,” Courfeyrac chortled.

“Can I tell you how unhealthful that is? There are slippers that one can borrow---” Joly began with undisguised alarm.

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face at this ensuing banter as he made his way out the side door. In the small hall he caught sight of Musichetta hurrying into another room, presumably to freshen up. He looked into the room he knew to be the kitchen and caught sight of Eponine warming up some soup bowls. “Do you need any help there?” he asked.

“I’m doing well enough---you wait in our room while I get this done,” Eponine said, quickly turning to look at him. “Has nearly everyone else gone?”

“Aside from Joly, Musichetta, and Riva, it will just be ourselves as well as Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Lamarre and LeClerc staying on these premises.”

“That is still quite the crowd.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as he closed the distance between them. “Did you want to head out as well?”

“Maybe when we aren’t trying to catch an ambassador,” Eponine quipped, straightening out his cuffs for a few moments. “Now the soup isn’t going to cook itself, and I have to get it out on the table before our guest arrives!”

“Naturally,” Enjolras said, stepping back. “By the way, I do not believe that Jehan meant any ill will with what he said earlier,” he added.

“Of course he didn’t, but I still feel the memory,” Eponine said before biting her lip. “I’ll tell you about it later, Antoine.”

“Very well then,” Enjolras said before heading to their own quarters, which was really little more than a tiny room just large enough to hold a large but hard bed, a tiny side table, a washbasin in a corner, and a chair. ‘ _We’ll be living out of our baggage while we are here,’_ he thought as he took off his shoes and his coat, draping the latter garment on the chair. The narrow window provided just enough daylight for him to continue reading, prompting him to bring out the phrasebook. He hardly noted the time passing by till he heard the door open. “Come in,” he called.

“Antoine, did you actually speak _Italian_?” Eponine asked incredulously as she stepped in. She had with her a large bowl of onion soup and some bread. “Everyone’s got their own things to eat too, in their own rooms,” she added in English.

“Two can play this game,” he pointed out, answering this time in Occitan as he pulled the side table closer to the bed so that they could set the soup and bread down on it while they sat on the bed. “How are matters outside?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“I heard Ambassador Philippon enter, and our friends greeted him,” she replied also in a hushed tone. “You think this will work?”

“I hope it will.”

“Then I s’pose we can say it is certain.”

Enjolras smiled at this show of confidence before they began eating their simple repast. Even as he could not help but listen from time to time for any signs of conversation from the apartment’s receiving room, he soon found himself watching Eponine as she glanced out the window at the now setting sun with a pensive expression. “What are you thinking of?” he asked.

“The old inn in Montfermeil,” Eponine said, setting down their now empty soup bowl before kicking off her own shoes. “Father used to water the wine all the time, especially the good ones. He would say that no one would know the difference after a while, and if someone still managed to get drunk on _that_ , then he would be more than justified in raising his bill.”

‘ _That definitely sounds like something he would say,’_ Enjolras thought as he touched her hand. “Did anyone ever complain?”

“Do you think that would have mattered at all to him in the slightest?” Eponine said with a snort. She shook her head as she pulled out her hairpins. “I used to think that he only became a terrible person when we had nothing, and we were living under a bridge in Paris. But I s’pose that was because I was a little girl and a spoiled one at that. I didn’t see what he did to my brothers, to Cosette and all her family. Was there ever a time he wasn’t so awful?”

“Maybe at some point in the past,” Enjolras suggested, even though he himself could not picture any scenario wherein old Thenardier would have acted decently, much less as a gentleman. “I do not believe anyone could be truly born to be nefarious.”

“That’s generous of you,” Eponine said. “When I saw Cosette again after all those years, when she went to visit that awful Gorbeau Hovel, I recognized her and her father right away. And I wished that he had taken me and Azelma, maybe even Gavroche too, when he came for Cosette.”

“In a way he eventually did,” he reminded her, even as he could feel himself smiling now at the recollection of Jean Valjean. “From the barricade to his own home.”

“I was ungrateful then. But I s’pose… no I have to ask if you think I ever paid him back well?” she asked, her eyes glimmering before she wiped them with her sleeve. “He saved my life, and I have since then tried to be like a sister to Cosette and a daughter to him. You think I did enough before he finally passed?”

“You did what you could, and he loved you almost as his own.” He took a deep breath before raising her chin so that their eyes met. “I do not believe it is up to us to be absolutely sure if what we did was ever enough for the circumstances, unless we have clear and perfect hindsight.”

“Which is impossible, as no one sees events perfectly.”

“Precisely.”

Eponine managed a smile before nodding. “Then I s’pose now that your father Louis is the closest thing I have left to a father. I mean the only reason I am glad that he is not actually my father is because I am married to you, but if I had to call someone Father now, that would be him.”

“He’s treated you as one of his own ever since you were introduced,” Enjolras pointed out. “Not like a sister of mine, but as part of the family,” he amended on seeing her awkward expression.

Eponine nodded after a moment as she inched closer to him. “I remember the time he got you to drink that wine,” she said, now smiling more widely. “It was Julien’s birthday.”

Enjolras smirked at the memory. “Celebrating having an heir, in his words. That was the only reason he brought out some of the wine from our small vineyard.” He chuckled when Eponine burst out giggling. “It is after all a wine to be drunk as close as possible to the source,” he added.

“Ah, it doesn’t age well then,” Eponine remarked. “I didn’t see you before or since with such a high color. And I was quite knocked off my feet with that wine too. What sort of grapes are in it?”

‘ _Father said some thing about it once,’_ Enjolras recalled, pausing to try to recall the memory of a conversation he had seemingly half a lifetime ago. “If memory serves me well, it is a blend of Mourvedre and Grenache grapes. How that matches up to other varieties, I am unsure.”

“I s’pose it is something we could try to learn more about before we visit Aix again,” Eponine suggested before pulling him in for a kiss that he was only too eager to return. It was not very long till kisses were soon combined with caresses and hands making short work of clothing in order to readily meet bare skin; the need to be as quiet as possible only lent a certain excitement to their rendezvous. It was all too easy to lose track of time again, until at last they fell asleep in each other’s arms, finally worn out from the events of the day.

Yet it only seemed as if a few minutes had passed till a tentative knock sounded on the door, breaking through Enjolras’ slumber . “ _Signor_ Enjolras? Are you in there with the _Signora_?” Riva’s voice asked embarrassedly.

Enjolras opened his eyes to find the room in complete darkness, but immediately calmed down on seeing Eponine still sound asleep next to him. “What is it?” he asked in a whisper.

“It’s done,” Riva replied. “The Ambassador is snoring in the living room.”


	61. Ensnared

**Chapter 61: Ensnared**

The first thing that unfortunately came to Eponine’s mind when she first saw Ambassador Gregoire Philippon was that he resembled a fish rather in need of a good gutting. “It does not help that he fell asleep with his mouth open like that,” she whispered, looking at the solidly built man snoring in a dining room chair.

“After finishing a bottle’s worth and then some, I am surprised he is still breathing,” Musichetta said with undisguised disgust. She blinked drowsily as she half-leaned on Joly, who looked only a little more sober. “And after my finishing only half of another bottle, I’m just about ready to go to bed.”

“We’ll see you all later,” Joly said, nodding to Eponine as well as Enjolras, Combeferre, and Riva. “You might want to get some rest yourselves.”

“We’ll try. Thank you for this,” Enjolras said before seeing the pair off. Once he shut the door he looked over the still slumbering ambassador. “Did Musichetta literally mean the whole bottle?” he asked Riva warily.

The Venetian nodded. “Just looking at him sleeping like that makes my neck hurt.”

“Then off to the chaise for him,” Combeferre said, motioning for his friends to help him lift the whole chair that Philippon occupied. “The chair is heavy but it’s better than having him retch if we jostle him by mistake.”

Eponine winced at this mental image as she hurried over to the chaise to clear it of any stray cushions before the men could roll Philippon onto it. She quickly held her breath at the reek of sweat mingled with alcohol that seemed to come off in waves from the sleeping man’s clothes, more so when Riva took it upon himself to remove Philippon’s shoes. “I s’pose we now have to take turns sitting up with him so he doesn’t just walk out the door when he wakes.”

“I’ll take first watch,” Enjolras volunteered, bringing out his pocketwatch. “It’s only about two in the morning, so I will stay up here till four when either Combeferre or Eponine can take over. You won’t have to do one, Riva; you need to sleep off the wine.”

Riva nodded gratefully. “I think I will need something for a headache shortly. Good night to all of you.”

“Let us get some water. I’ll have a dose mixed up for you all the same,” Combeferre promised before guiding the now wobbly young man out of the room.

In the meantime, Eponine wrinkled her nose as she crossed the room to open the windows in an attempt to lessen the stench. “I s’pose you might say that this plan worked a little too well?” she teased Enjolras as the latter found a seat.

“We can only say that if we actually do get to talk with him,” Enjolras deadpanned. “Get some rest too, Eponine,” he said, touching her arm.

“I shall try but I doubt I shall succeed with it,” Eponine quipped. The truth was that even at this odd hour she felt a strange sort of energy coursing through every nerve, banishing even the exhaustion from travel. ‘ _So much the better with all the things I ought to do,’_ she thought as she went back to their room.

The first thing she did here was to also open the window, if only to get rid of the smells of sex and sweat that had lingered in the air. After washing out the dishes that they had used earlier in the evening, she rummaged through her baggage for some clean clothes, only to find that she had exactly one dress that was not in dire need of a trip to a laundress. “I s’pose we’ll have to find one later for these and the sheets too,” she muttered as she stripped so she could sponge herself down at the washbasin. Once she was cleaner and a little calmer, she grabbed her writing implements and headed back to the apartment’s living room.

‘ _And of course I find him reading,’_ she thought as she espied Enjolras going through the phrasebook that had occupied him for much of the past few days. As quietly as she could she set down her belongings before walking up behind him so she could slip her arms around his shoulders. “Your turn. We can work on that in a little while,” she whispered in his ear.

“That was rather quick,” Enjolras said, noticing that Eponine’s hair was still a little damp. “Are you sure you will not be sleeping?”

“It’s quiet, I’m awake, and I need to catch up on some letters.” She stepped away to set up her writing slope on the nearby dining room table. “For one thing, I think I’d like to write to that wonderful Citizenness or should I say _Senora_ de Polignac, as well as her friends that you mentioned? You think they would like it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I believe I wrote you a letter mentioning the affirmative, and I also enclosed their addresses.”

“I don’t think I ever got it; either it was lost in the post or it was sent to London when I was already on my way here.” She bit her lip as she brought out a sheet of paper from the small compartment in the writing slope, and then began to prepare her pen and ink. “Do you s’pose you still have it in your notes?”

Enjolras glanced towards where Philippon was still snoring away. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said before kissing her brow and making his way out of the room.

Eponine smiled to herself at this familiar gesture, even as she felt warmth rising to her cheeks. She carefully smoothed out the paper on the slope and began to pen these words.

_June 28, 1842_

_Rome, Italy_

_Dear Senora_ _de Polignac,_

_I hope this letter does not come too much as a surprise; if for anything I am sorry for taking so long to send it. My husband was quick to tell me of your wish to enter in correspondence, but it is only now after traveling for many days that I have had an opportunity to properly see to it._

_You have no idea how happy this makes me to learn that somehow, something of what has been written in Paris has made its way to Madrid. It is also delightful that you are not alone in all this reading; you can probably guess how long it took before the idea of groups of women reading politics caught on even in Paris. For this, I can say that you are very lucky in this regard._

_I would like to know if you read these books and pamphlets in the original French, or if they were already translated out into Spanish? And if they were in Spanish, maybe you could please send me some parts of them so I can at least try to compare? Since I am a translator (at least from French to English and the other way around), this makes me curious._

_Please post your letter to 9 Rue Guisarde in Paris. I’ll find it for sure when we return home!_

_Pleased to make your acquaintance,_

_Eponine Enjolras_

As she set this note out to dry, she noticed that it was already half past four in the morning. “Combeferre probably fell asleep right away,” she said as she looked around the still quiet dining room. Before she could get up to look for Enjolras, she heard a grunt coming from the chaise. “Good morning Citizen Philippon,” she said calmly to the now half-awake ambassador.

“Who said that?” Philippon asked, opening his eyes and sitting up. The half-light of the candles only emphasized his broad build as well as his square jaw and tousled dark hair, making him seem a little menacing. “You have a Parisian accent.”

“I s’pose I should,” Eponine replied as she went to light another candle. “Do you want some water, Citizen?”

Philippon winced and shook his head before looking at her. “Something about you seems familiar, Citizenness.”

“Oh? I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” Eponine said as she got up to look for a pitcher of water and a glass, all the while surreptitiously glancing towards the side door. ‘ _Hopefully someone will hear this gentleman too,’_ she thought as she located a pitcher on a side table and filled it with water. “Drink it quick, Citizen.”

Philippon drained the glass in a few swallows before giving Eponine another bleary look that travelled lower towards her décolletage. “You weren’t at dinner here last night. What are you doing here so early?” he asked querulously.

“I am also renting this apartment.”

“Really now? You should have had that young Signor Riva escort you and join us.”

Eponine could not help but snort at this. “He is not a particular friend of mine, Citizen.” She glanced up at the side door opening and motioned for Enjolras to enter quietly. “Unfortunately, I was quite occupied with something else I was doing last night.”

“Indeed it was quite a diversion,” Enjolras said as he now crossed the room to sit next to her. He reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Good morning, Eponine.”

The ambassador’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened as he looked at the couple. “I must have had too much wine,” he muttered. 

“Now is the hour to sober up,” Enjolras said more seriously as he refilled Philippon’s glass of water. “If not, would you prefer to further discuss over breakfast?”

“I made it clear I would not receive you yesterday, so what could we have to discuss?”

“The very reason that your office summoned me and Citizen LeClerc to the Papal States, as well as some news from Paris.”

“I have already received my news from Paris,” Philippon said scornfully before emptying the glass once again. “While you and your misbegotten coterie were gallivanting in Venice, I was already informed well enough.”

‘ _By D’Aramitz, no doubt,’_ Eponine realized, more so when she momentarily met Enjolras’ now steely eyes and felt his hand on hers again. “He still has his shoes off,” she whispered to him in Occitan before getting up and leaving by the side door.

In the darkness it was a little difficult to make out where the bedroom doors were, so she settled for knocking as she walked. “Courfeyrac! LeClerc! Lamarre!” she called, stopping in her tracks to tap repeatedly on the first door she found.

“Eponine, it’s not even dawn,” Courfeyrac groaned from behind the door.

“I know but Ambassador Philippon is up before the sun. We need you and the papers you have, now!” Eponine hissed. She bit her lip at the sounds of Courfeyrac hurriedly rummaging through his room, more so when this was now coupled with the sounds of an increasingly heated argument back in the living room. “Come on, hurry!” she whispered when Courfeyrac emerged, hurriedly buttoning up his waistcoat. As she half-dragged her friend out to the living room she could already hear the other diplomats waking up in their rooms, only to reach the door just in time to hear the unmistakable sound of someone being violently sick.

Eponine opened the door slowly to the sight of Philippon and Enjolras standing in the middle of the living room, both of them splattered with vomit. Philippon was covering his still greenish face with his hands, while Enjolras’ stunned pallor was now swiftly changing into a livid and mortified fury. Eponine slowly stepped into the room, doing her best to keep a straight face despite the rising stench and the barely muffled horrified giggles of Courfeyrac, LeClerc, and Lamarre just behind her. “This is unexpected,” she finally managed to say.

“Indeed,” Enjolras began even as the front door opened. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes. “Not a word,” he muttered.

“Well aren’t we having a fine morning-----what is that?” Prouvaire greeted. The poet’s eyes widened as he took in the scene before him, even while he stepped aside to let Grantaire, Jacques, and Nicholine into the apartment. “Is everyone well?”

“They will be shortly; it is only the vengeance that Bacchus wrecks on the morning,” Grantaire chortled.

“You all are a bunch of reprobates,” Philippon growled, striding towards the door. “This is precisely why I did not wish to receive any of you!”

Courfeyrac cleared his throat as he shook out a paper he had brought with him. “Addressed to all the embassies and consuls of France to the following states of the Italian peninsula: the Papal States, Sardinia, Lombardy-Venetia, Tuscany, Parma, Modena, and the Two Sicilies,” he began in a loud, deep voice.

The lawyer grinned as Philippon stopped in his tracks and turned around. “You are hereby requested to facilitate the arrest and detention of Citizen Theophile D’Aramitz, former attache to Spain. Since he no longer holds the immunity conferred on an associate of the French Diplomatic Corps, he is to be extradited and deported back to Paris at the soonest opportunity. This order is to also be furnished to the law enforcement authorities cooperating with your respective embassies. The Home Office is prepared to provide whatever support necessary. Thank you for your cooperation. Signed, Citizen Xavier Sardou, Chief of Home Office French Diplomatic Corps.”

Philippon marched over to Courfeyrac. “Is this some sort of trick?”

“I assure you it is not, Citizen,” Courfeyrac said gleefully, holding out the missive.

The ambassador’s eyes narrowed as he read through the note, only for them to widen moments later with an unmistakable look of humiliation. “It would appear that I have been thoroughly fleeced!” he muttered, thrusting the letter back at Courfeyrac. “I’ll see you all at the embassy in an hour,” he added before stomping out the door.


	62. A Two-Faced Portrait

**Chapter 62: A Two-Faced Portrait**

Despite all of Enjolras’ scrubbing and washing, he still felt the inexplicable desire to crawl out of his skin entirely. “Not even _Grantaire_ ever did that, not even during his worst days,” he griped under his breath while he, Eponine, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Lamarre and LeClerc walked up the Spanish Steps.

“At least to your knowledge,” Combeferre pointed out sagely. “Though to be fair he usually had the courtesy to remove himself from either the Musain or Corinth before getting to that point.”

Enjolras only gritted his teeth as he adjusted his coat, which went over his only remaining clean shirt and waistcoat. ‘ _That was a waste of a good bath,’_ he could not help but thinking as once more he thought back on the events of the morning. “It can only get better from here,” he told himself as they reached the top of the steps.

“I know it will,” Eponine said, reaching over to smooth out his cuffs. “I s’pose once you’ve embarrassed yourself so completely in front of someone new, there’s no point in acting too stuffy and serious when you meet again.”

“Assuming one even has the gumption for eye contact or conversation in those circumstances,” Enjolras deadpanned, looking now towards the French embassy. Like many other diplomatic establishments in Rome, the residence and office of the French ambassador were situated in a restored old residence overlooking a piazza. ‘ _The original owners of these houses probably never dreamed that these halls would be repurposed in this manner,’_ he thought as he nodded to the footmen at the gate and went up to knock once on the door. Immediately they were shown upstairs to Philippon’s receiving room, which occupied much of the second storey.

Courfeyrac paused before a painting of the ambassador in the full regalia of the diplomatic corps, standing at the side of an elegantly dressed woman with a long face and rather severe features. “Finally, an ambassador who is not a bachelor. Perhaps we can expect to meet the lady of the house?” he remarked with a cheery smile.

“She prefers to summer outside of Rome, and winter in Paris,” Philippon deadpanned as he entered from another room, looking decidedly cleaner than he had been an hour ago. “My wife and I prefer this more distant arrangement.”

LeClerc coughed awkwardly. “Have you already had breakfast, Ambassador?”

“After last night’s delicious dinner, it would be poor of me not to return the favor, albeit with less wine,” Philippon said. He looked Eponine over. “I must compliment your cooking, Citizenness. Surely these culinary exertions to make sure that your husband is dining well have not taxed you overmuch this entire trip?”

“Last night’s dinner was also the effort of other friends, and besides we have been well provided for throughout our travels,” Eponine said, looking Philippon in the face. “It would be an insult to Italian hospitality if I was to insist on cooking all the time.”

“Citizenness Enjolras travelled with Citizen Combeferre and myself from England, where she was our official translator from the Home Office,” Lamarre said amiably.

“Ah yes the English mission,” Philippon said as he showed his guests to the dining room, where the table was laid out with an assortment of breads, fruits, and piping hot cups of coffee. He took a seat at the head of the table and sighed deeply. “You must understand that this news from the Home Office rather threw me off, and I had to take the time to square it up against what I was already told.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth at this equivocation while he and his companions took their seats. “You mean to say that Citizen D’Aramitz arrived here in Rome, and made a sort of report,” he said in a level tone. “And that report perhaps contradicts the order from Paris.”

“His report contradicts this, first,” Philippon said, holding up an envelope. “This came from Venice a few days ago.”

“It is in Citizen Monteil’s hand,” LeClerc pointed out after doing a double-take. “Surely you were already informed that he was appointed as the officer-in-charge after Citizen Brisbois was recalled to Paris?”

“Under whose order?”

“The Home Office. The recall order was served to Citizen Brisbois the same day the notice for D’Aramitz’s detention was served to the consulates and embassies.”

Philippon’s brow furrowed. “On the contrary, Citizen D’Aramitz told me that he was fleeing Venice due to an internal coup by Citizen Monteil. Can you attest that this recall order was true?”

“It is. I delivered it myself to Citizen Brisbois,” Courfeyrac said before breaking off a large hunk of bread from a loaf. “It is only natural that you would find it as surprising as he did.”

‘ _An understatement,’_ Enjolras thought as he picked up his cup of coffee. The aroma of this brew was less potent than that in Florence, but it still was enough to ensure full wakefulness. “What exactly in Citizen D’Aramitz’s report raised your apprehensions?” he enquired.

“You must understand that until this summer, if these reports are to be believed, Citizen D’Aramitz was the epitome of the upstanding diplomat,” Philippon said. “The accusation that he is in connivance with the Papal States is a very grave one.”

“It is a charge that he has to properly answer, especially considering that he had no official business in Lombardy-Venetia, and papers were also found in his possession relating to communication between the Papal States and agents in other areas throughout Europe,” Lamarre chimed in. “England is one of them; Ambassador Delaroche sent me here expressly to Italy to investigate this.”

Philippon sipped noisily from his coffee cup. “And do you have proof that Citizen D’Aramitz was involved in any affairs there?”

“No, but I do not have proof to the contrary either.”

“Citizen D’Aramitz never properly explained either what he was doing here in Venice when he was supposed to be handling affairs in Spain and then in Paris,” Eponine chimed in. “He was in Venice accompanying a woman, but he left her behind there, and she surrendered the papers to us, the same ones Citizen Lamarre was talking about.”

It was all that Enjolras could do to not openly grit his teeth, more so when he saw how Philippon’s eager gaze wandered down again to the general level of Eponine’s bosom. “He was in the retinue of our ambassador to Spain, Citizen Luc Belmont, before Citizen Belmont sent him back to Paris to handle some official matters and give a preliminary report of our mission there,” he said as he set down his cup of coffee.

Philippon’s brow furrowed. “Citizen D’Aramitz should never have been assigned to work under Citizen Belmont,” he said. “I have known both of them for years, as well as I know other senior members of the French Diplomatic Corps. A man of Citizen D’Aramitz’s ambition would stagnate under Citizen Belmont’s phlegmatic ways.”

‘ _Which might explain Citizen D’Aramitz’s trying to gain some following in Madrid’s French émigré community and perhaps some members too of the local elite,’_ Enjolras thought. “Is he not free to apply himself to another embassy or office of his choosing?’ he asked.

“You would be hard-pressed to find ambassadors and attaches who are willing to take on the intricacies of the Spanish court. With the way that the government has undergone more turns than we have in France, one would consider such an office a little dangerous.” Philippon bit off a piece of bread and chewed it ruefully. “Citizen D’Aramitz knows best how to penetrate an intrigue while Citizen Belmont would ride it out as a tide ebbs. Both approaches have their merits.”

“I was under the impression that the non-confrontational approach was the best to take when dealing with Spain?” LeClerc asked.

“After Rome and Venice, Madrid is the most intrigue-ridden important city of the Mediterranean lands,” Philippon pointed out. “One must be careful with picking a side, especially when remaining neutral would be most disadvantageous.”

“Perhaps that cannot be helped; the embassies must always support the legitimate government and not its splinter factions,” Combeferre said. “But what I find most disturbing about this is the implication that one of our diplomats would go over to the political interests of another state, specifically the Papal States in this case.”

“Citizen Combeferre, I think any deeply steeped Catholic is in some manner serving the interests of the Papal States; you’d have to be a Deist or some other faith to completely be free of its influence,” Philippon chuckled. “For as long as the Church claims to hold temporal power, and conflates the Pope with a king, every Catholic is a subject and not a freeman.”

“And what does this have to do with Citizen D’Aramitz and his double-dealing, if that is what he is doing?’ Eponine asked.

“Before he was a lawyer, he was a seminarian and he’s always taken some of that with him,” Philippon explained. “It would not be surprising if he found the pull of the Papal States to be more attractive to his sensibilities and opportunities as well. His advancement has long been delayed by the temerity of our embassy in Spain.”

“And you do not consider this inimical to your interests and work here in the Papal States?” Enjolras asked querulously.

“It would be. But you must understand that to handle Citizen D’Aramitz in a….heavy handed fashion would cause more trouble than a falling out within the Home Office, especially if what you say is true,” Philippon confessed. He heaved a deep sigh as he looked at Enjolras and then the rest of the group. “You’ve met Citizen Belmont and you surely understand that his temerity has ensured that France would not be pulled into the many petty squabbles among Spain’s provinces. Well I would not call myself timorous, but rather cautious and prudent while being here in Rome.”

“But the order from the Home Office---” LeClerc began.

“Will be carried out with utmost discretion,” Philippon said more sternly. “Opposing Citizen D’Aramitz and his fellow agents might have more consequences than you foresee, including an intervention from the Holy See itself.”

“What is the worst that the Pope can do? Excommunication?” Courfeyrac snorted.

Philippon’s eyes narrowed as he looked from Courfeyrac to each member of the group. “You forget the alliance that these Papal States have with Austria; a tenuous one but there nonetheless that can be called upon to settle any threats from within and outside of Italy. And you forget that France’s alliance with Austria was broken with the execution of Marie-Antoinette. Unless you have a princess to marry off to the Hapsburgs, a misstep here in Rome might bring war upon us all.”


	63. Shadowed

**Chapter 63: Shadowed**

“War? Surely the ambassador was exaggerating?”

“I hope that it is just the worst of possibilities, but what if he knows something we don’t?”

Victoria rolled her eyes at this query from Eponine as they were seated back in the apartment near the Spanish Steps. “He is an ambassador, of course he is privy to secrets he won’t share even to French nationals. I am just wondering why his mind went to war, of all things,” the Englishwoman said. She bit her lip as she glanced to the other side of the living room, where her husband was regaling Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, Bossuet, Grantaire, and Jacques with stories of past voyages. “I only wish that our own envoy was just as forthcoming.”

“Maybe he will be, if Ambassador Philippon can have a discreet word with him,” Eponine said with a hopeful shrug. “Will you visit the English embassy today?”

“For what it’s worth, yes,” Victoria replied. “I do have a pretext, which is gathering some information for Dr. Maturin. We can go in from there.”

“Information on what?”

“Birds, maps, or even the latest gossip. That’s the benefit of working with someone who is an expert on a great many subjects.”

‘ _There aren’t many men of that sort anymore,’_ Eponine could not help thinking even as Victoria excused herself to speak with Admiral Calamy. In the meantime, Eponine silently quit the living room and went to the tiny chamber where she and Enjolras had spent the night. She could not help but laugh as she stepped in only to find her husband dozing lightly on his side, heedless of the fact that he was sleeping on a bare mattress. ‘ _Looks like he got rid of the sheets too when sending everything we had out to laundry before breakfast,’_ she thought as she undressed so that she was only in her chemise, and then let down her hair from its updo. She placed her clothes where Enjolras had put away his clean coat and waistcoat before she lay down beside him and wrapped her arms around his waist so she could bury her nose in his shoulder.

Enjolras stirred after a few moments and then brought one of her hands to his lips. “Getting some rest as well, Eponine?” he murmured drowsily.

“I s’pose, since someone also kept me up for a good part of the night,” Eponine quipped. She smiled when she felt him chuckle against her, prompting her to kiss the back of his ear. “You aren’t the least bit sorry about it.”

“I recall that you were not intent on sleeping either,” he pointed out before turning so that he was now facing her. He brushed his lips against her forehead before resting his chin on top of her head. “Though now we’re here again, the point is moot.”

“Just for a while,” she whispered, shutting her eyes as she adjusted the arm she had draped over his torso. Despite her growing ardor, she knew that they could both still feel the effects of last night’s intense lovemaking, so it was just enough for now to lie quietly together, a little away from the troubles just outside the door. She smiled at the warmth of one of his hands running up and down her back while the other rested on her hip. ‘ _Like we’re having a quiet day at home again,’_ she thought, smiling against his chest as she let lassitude overtake her.

All of a sudden a hurried knock sounded on the door, cutting through their slumber. “Citizen Enjolras? A message just came from Ambassador Philippon. We have a meeting with the Sicilian envoys later this afternoon,” LeClerc called from outside.

It was all that Eponine could do not to groan at this disruption. “Must you?” she asked Enjolras in a whisper, not willing to open her eyes or move from his side.

“It is what we are in Rome for,” Enjolras reminded her. “What time and where?” he asked LeClerc more loudly.

“One in the afternoon. That’s not very long from now,” LeClerc said. “They want to meet us near the Trevi Fountain.”

“Is there a fountain in every square in Rome?” Eponine asked a little more crossly, opening her eyes to see Enjolras propping himself up on one elbow as he glanced towards the door. “How can anyone ever keep track of them all?”

“Practice,” Enjolras deadpanned, smirking at her. He listened for LeClerc’s footsteps hurrying away down the hall before he suddenly bent to capture Eponine’s lips with a light yet teasing kiss. “Now where were we?”

“Seeing if we could get a bit of a nap?”

“I would consider that a success at this point.”

“A small one,” Eponine pointed out as she pulled him in for another kiss, making sure to run her hands through his hair just the way he liked it. When they broke apart for some air, she smiled affectionately as she traced a finger down the ever-familiar angle of his jaw. “You know, we’ve never actually _seen_ a city together during this whole time,” she said a little wistfully.

One of Enjolras’ eyebrows shot up as he looked at her curiously. “Are you proposing a sight-seeing stroll of some sort?”

“We’re in Rome. What better place is there for it?” she answered. “We can finally see the places we both have read about.”

“Some of them. It would take at least a fortnight for a comprehensive tour.”

“Which you are disinclined to?”

“As grand as they are, ruins are simply the remnants of dead men, and dead men do not tell many tales,” he pointed out as his hand came to rest on the back of her neck. His smile was curious yet teasing as he kissed her brow. “Unless you are more inclined to see churches?”

She shook her head. “What about you?”

“I’ll ask our friends for recommendations. It is likely though that we will still end up visiting some bookshop regardless,” he said knowingly.

“You’re impossible sometimes, Antoine.”

“I am merely stating a probability, if not a likelihood.”

“Because you already are so _certain_ it is going to happen!” she laughed. All the same, the idea of finding another acquisition for their ever-growing book collection at the Rue Guisarde never lost its appeal, if only for knowing what it meant to both of them. “We already have so many books on politics, history, some here and there on science, and of course my language books and your law books. Do you think we can find something on art for a change?”

“If one is available,” he said. “That, and not another novel?”

“You already gave me one before we left France,” she reminded him. “You always do so, on my birthday each year.”

Enjolras smiled as he met her eyes. “The first one I gave you, if you remember, was written by a lady who grew up in Venice.”

“ _Les Morlacques_ , yes,” Eponine replied fondly. “I wonder if Citizen Riva has ever read it.”

“Perhaps,” Enjolras said as he got out of bed and held out a hand to help her out as well. “I presume you will find plans for the afternoon, but if you can be spared, you did hear of my assignation in the vicinity of the Trevi Fountain. We will have time after.”

Eponine nodded. “I’ll see you later,” she promised as she got her clothes from the chair. After dressing quickly, she pinned up her hair in a slightly more intricate knot than she had managed earlier that day. “I know it’s fashionable to have the hair nearest my ears go in ringlets, but my hair is much too long and I daren’t try anything with the tongs after nearly burning some of my hair off that time after Etienne was born,” she fretted.

“I thought the point of bonnets was for no one to notice these things?” Enjolras asked, having also finished putting on his clothes.

“People look, even if you don’t,” Eponine reminded him as she went to smooth out his cuffs. She sighed as she felt his hands clasp hers reassuringly. “We’d better be careful; we’re not getting our other things back from the laundresses till tomorrow.”

“That is easily managed,” he said, giving her another kiss and a confident smile before they left the room.

Almost as soon as Eponine and Enjolras stepped into the living room, they were greeted by Nicholine. “Musichetta and I insist that you and Victoria join us,” Nicholine said, grabbing Eponine’s arm. “We ladies need some time to ourselves.”

“To do what?” Eponine asked.

“Oh to have some good things to eat and talk, away from the gentlemen,” Nicholine said saucily. “Don’t worry, Enjolras, I’ll give her back by the end of the afternoon. I did hear you have something to do, so it’s more of her waiting for you,” she called over her shoulder.

Eponine glanced back momentarily to where Enjolras was now talking to Jacques, LeClerc, and Riva. “Are we to be in here or someplace else?’ she asked Nicholine.

“Our apartment near the fountain; Musichetta and I have our sewing baskets there, and I only stopped by to help Laurent move his things in with mine. And fetch you of course,” Nicholine prattled on. “After we are done, we can tour the city a little while the Calamys are resting up. It’s too bad the Admiral isn’t up yet for a long walk since he and Lady Victoria are such fun company.”

“Don’t say that where the English can hear you; they are strict with who they call a lord, a gentleman, a lady and more,” Eponine joked. “Isn’t that right, Victoria?” she asked, seeing that the Englishwoman was watching them.

“That lack of distinction is the problem I have with the French language,” Victoria answered primly. She nodded to the Admiral, who was helping himself to his feet. “Shall we now?”

‘ _Are we going to walk all the way there?’_ Eponine wondered as they headed downstairs. Much to her surprise a carriage was waiting by the door. “Who ordered this?” she asked.

“I did,” Victoria said, now appearing in the doorway with her husband. The Englishwoman rattled off some directions in accented but still intelligible Italian to the carriage driver as soon as they were all settled in the vehicle. “In some ways this is safer than walking under the hot Roman sun in this summer,” she resumed in French.

“How many languages do you know besides Italian, English, and French?” Eponine asked.

“Some Spanish of course, but do not trust me with Greek.” Victoria nodded to the Admiral. “He is much better with that.”

“I only learned what was necessary; we did not always have a proper schoolmaster aboard the ships I served on,” Admiral Calamy explained. “For Greek and Latin, I would apply to my friend the Lord Blakeney; he learned from Dr. Maturin himself.”

“Ah yes the famed doctor; I’ve heard Joly and Combeferre mention him,” Nicholine said dryly. “Does he have any children?”

“A daughter. She lives in a situation best suited to her,” Victoria said, the taut line of her lips making it clear that this was not a subject to be dwelt on any further. “And what will everyone else be up to?”

“A meeting with some Sicilians, that’s one thing. But that isn’t everyone,” Eponine said. “I s’pose my brother will have some ideas in mind for the rest.”

“Your brother? Isn’t Jacques supposed to be with your husband on their diplomatic errand?” Victoria asked confusedly.

Eponine laughed. “No, I was referring to Prouvaire, but I can see why that is confusing,” she explained. “I call him my brother since he is married to my only sister. He has no siblings of his own, so he calls me a sister in the same way he calls my husband his brother. That is much the same way as Antoine calls the Prouvaires his siblings too.”

“You get used to it,” Nicholine reassured Victoria. “At least Jacques isn’t calling Enjolras his father anymore,” she said to Eponine.

“Now that was awful, but it couldn’t be helped since Jacques was so little when we all came to live in the same place,” Eponine pointed out. ‘ _But now that he and Neville are almost grown men, so things will be different now,’_ she reflected as they neared the Piazza Navona and the side streets branching from it.

Musichetta was waiting in the apartment when they arrived. “That took you all long enough! Patrice and I have just finished lunch but there’s enough left for everyone,” she said enthusiastically. She also looked as if she’d also had a good nap, judging by her more refreshed mien. “Were you able to get what you wanted from Ambassador Philippon?” she asked Eponine.

“Eventually,” Eponine replied, willing herself not to look at Nicholine if only to keep from bursting out into mortified laughter at the recollection of the results of Philippon’s overindulgence. She looked to Joly, who was helping Victoria assist Admiral Calamy into the room. “Were you able to get some rest?” she asked him.

“More than enough. Never mind us gentlemen; I have to check his bandages, so we will not be getting in the way,” Joly said cheerily as he walked the older man to a side room.

“He will do the doctoring, and I will do the sewing,” Musichetta pronounced as she brought out her sewing basket. She rummaged through it for a few moments before holding up a long black silk that was trimmed with white lace at the cuffs. “I got this altered to suit you, Eponine, since as you said you didn’t bring anything black with you. It’s a little like the dress you wore to Citizen Valjean’s funeral,” she said, handing the garment to her friend.

“I hope I won’t have to wear black again for a long time,” Eponine said as she unfastened the dress she had on so she could try out the black silk. As she was pulling up the altered dress, she saw Nicholine trying her best to hold back laughter. “Is something wrong with my corset?” Eponine asked a little worriedly.

Musichetta gave Nicholine a baleful look. “It is because our husbands nearly switched up their “supports” as they so fondly call them,” Musichetta said. “A corset is still a corset, whether on a man or woman.” 

The idea of Joly and Grantaire arguing over misplaced undergarments was enough to send Eponine into peals of laughter. “They wear those every day now?” she asked, stopping only to finish fastening the black dress.

“Health reasons,” Nicholine said, rolling her eyes. “I asked him to tell me when health was synonymous with vanity.”

“After a certain point, doesn’t wearing these corsets become foolish for a man?” Victoria asked from where she was taking off her shoes.

The two seamstresses exchanged mirthful looks. “A lot of the clients of the corset makers of the Latin Quartier _are_ grandfathers,” Musichetta said, getting up now to inspect the fit of Eponine’s dress. She pursed her lips as she scrutinized the waistline. “How is this still loose on you? You aren’t laced in too tightly, I hope?”

Eponine shook her head. “You know I never could manage that.”

“Well you are lucky. So many women try to do that what with the way most of us get broader after twenty-five,” Musichetta said as she began to adjust and pin the waist of the dress in preparation for alterations. “At any rate this will be easy to take in.”

“I completely understand; I got my mother’s build hence never really being able to put on much weight. That, or the years at sea,” Victoria said, now putting her feet up. “What about your mother?” she asked Eponine.

“She was not that way at all; she was very different,” Eponine answered. It was not often that she dwelt on the memory of Lisette Thenardier _nee_ Sorel, but when she did she found it was with less affectation than in years past. ‘ _If ever, I learned what not to do with raising Laure, and I learned nothing from her when it comes to raising all the boys,’_ she thought.

“I can guess she read romances by the way she named you and Azelma,” Musichetta remarked. “Did you ever find out which?”

“It’s that of Epponina and Sabinus,” Victoria pointed out. “The story of a Roman wife who stood by her husband who was arrested for rebellion. It seems rather fitting.”

“Not really; Antoine never got actually arrested for rebellion, ever. More for disturbing the peace and at least one false charge. And I didn’t know him before 1832,” Eponine retorted. “But if we’re to get to that, why did your mother name you so?”

“I do not know, and I never had cause to find out,” Victoria replied curtly. “My mother moved to Boston when I was hardly even thirteen years old. We hardly corresponded till the day she died, still in America.”

‘ _At least she seemed to have passed on happily, and not in a prison,’_ Eponine could not help thinking as she took off the dress to allow Musichetta to alter it. “Do I have to wear even a black hat for this?” she asked as she changed back into her own dress.

“A black veil. It need not be a long one, thankfully,” Musichetta said over a knock on the door. “Now who could that be?”

Eponine glanced to where Nicholine was helping Victoria try on another dress, before shrugging and going to the entryway. When she opened the door, she found herself greeted by the silence of the hallway. “Anyone there?” she called, looking up and down. She heard her foot crush a bit of paper, which she quickly bent to retrieve. On a single sheet of paper were these words:

_Greetings, Citizenness Enjolras. If you wish for you and your kin to leave Rome in one piece, you would do well to stay out of the Italian affairs. Otherwise, you will pay dearly for your interference. Should you not leave Rome within the hour, the Trevi fountain will run red today. You have been warned._

_Your friend,_

_T.D.A_


	64. A Shock Akin to Cold Water

**Chapter 64: A Shock Akin to Cold Water**

“For something that started out as an actual source of water in Rome, this is impressive.”

“The question now is if the form has superseded function.”

Riva groaned at Enjolras’ deadpan remark. “It does have some function, which is a stop at any tour here. How is that a bad thing?”

“It isn’t, but why should a usable aquifer simply be seen and not utilized for its original purpose?” Enjolras pointed out. ‘ _A public water source in a city would be a great help to those who live close by or on the streets,’_ he thought as he looked from the Trevi Fountain’s ornate sculptures to the bustling piazza where he, Riva as well as Jacques, LeClerc and Philippon were waiting for the delegates from Sicily.

Jacques stuck his hands in his pockets. “When we were in Venice, I heard some of the men laughing about the Sicilians. Why is that?” he asked the diplomats.

“Sicily is quite different from Venice; rustic would be a kind way of putting it. You will understand when you see the Sicilians!” Philippon guffawed, brushing off some dust from the sleeve of his green coat.

LeClerc sighed deeply before looking at Jacques. “The Sicilians have their own ways and history; you might find it as colorful as you found Madrid,” he said more amiably. “Their kingdom is not only Roman, but it is also Byzantine, Islamic, and even a little Jewish in roots and influence.”

“How do they all get along?” Jacques asked incredulously.

“Not very well,” LeClerc said with a wince. He craned his neck to look over the crowd in the piazza. “Looks like your sister is joining us,” he added.

Enjolras turned in time to see Eponine rushing up the street, with Victoria Calamy and Joly following not far behind. “Eponine, what are you doing here?” he asked her in Occitan.

Eponine breathlessly brought a folded paper out from a pocket in her coat. “We’re being followed. Someone left this outside the apartment near the fountain,” she answered also in Occitan.

Enjolras’ eyebrows shot up on seeing the familiar handwriting on the sheet. ‘ _Either D’Aramitz was following them personally or he has eyes all over Rome,’_ he realized as he gritted his teeth. “Did you ever see who?”

Eponine shook her head. “I don’t like the bit about this fountain running red.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras muttered before nodding to Victoria and Joly. “Is everyone safe where you were?” he asked them.

“Admiral Calamy said he had a pistol, and you know that Chetta also can hold her own,” Joly replied in Occitan. He indicated his walking stick. “Will you be needing this?”

“Hopefully not,” Enjolras said. “Have you been able to find any developments from the English embassy, Madame?” he asked Victoria.

“I was on my way there to make another call, though it would appear that I should call for reinforcements,” the Englishwoman said. She handed a revolver to him. “Hopefully you will not have to use this,” she added before nodding to Eponine and Joly, then rushing to the other side of the piazza.

Enjolras looked to Philippon and LeClerc. “It would be better if we waited indoors. Are we not to rendezvous in a café or establishment nearby?” he asked.

“There was no such arrangement,” Philippon replied. “Why do you ask?”

Enjolras held out the note. “The handwriting might be familiar to you.”

Philippon’s eyes widened as he read through the missive, but he shook his head and burst out laughing. “Why should old D’Aramitz scare us with this trick? I would have thought that you of all people would not be cowed by a piece of paper!”

“It is a different matter when there are individuals who should not be involved in this intrigue, and that includes the people we are supposed to meet,” Enjolras argued. “You yourself have advised caution while we are here in Rome.”

“To not antagonize the Holy See and the other powers of Rome, that is what I meant,” Philippon retorted. “As it is I already have people shadowing D’Aramitz. What more do you want me to do? Have him arrested in plain sight?”

“Is a threat not grounds enough?”

“A mere piece of paper! Did any of you actually see him leave it?”

On hearing this, Eponine sighed and shook her head. “He, or whoever left it, was gone by the time I opened the door. But isn’t this enough?” she chimed in.

“There, you’re running frightened because of the hysteria of a young _girl_ ,” Philippon said mockingly as he tossed the note aside. “I thought that a seasoned legislator and lawyer like yourself would have more logic, Citizen Enjolras.”

Enjolras saw Eponine redden with indignation but he motioned for her to stay still even as he looked Philippon in the eye. “The substance of the matter is not altered by the messenger in this case. What is your basis for taking this plainly stated threat so lightly?”

“Because I know he wouldn’t dare be so open,” Philippon said smugly. “I cannot believe the lot of you are cowering like children over this.”

Riva cleared his throat as he picked up the note that the ambassador had discarded. “Maybe not him, but someone else? From what we have experienced so far throughout this trip, he never works alone. We had to deal with a Frenchwoman in Venice and an Englishman in Florence.”

Philippon looked him over from head to toe. “And what would a Venetian know of Roman and French affairs?”

“Enough to save people’s lives at least,” Riva answered calmly.

Philippon rolled his eyes before he looked towards the right of the fountain. “And here are the Sicilians now,” he muttered.

Enjolras now caught sight of three stocky men approaching them; their very presence seemed to excite comment from most passers-by on the piazza. ‘ _Courfeyrac would have something to say about those breeches,’_ he observed quietly even as he gave Jacques a warning look, seeing that the boy appeared too clearly on the verge of laughter. On closer observation he noticed that two of the men wore black stocking caps, while one was in a more distinguished looking felt hat with a red sash around his waist.

The Sicilian in a felt hat greeted Philippon with a slight bow that showed his balding pate. “You have a very large contingent with you, _Signor_ Philippon,” he said in Italian.

“Only some hangers-on. My apologies _Signor_ Agosta,” Philippon replied. “Allow me to introduce my colleague _Signor_ LeClerc, as well as our embassy’s guest _Signor_ Enjolras,” he added, indicating the two men.

“Alessandro Agosta at your service. Of course, when travelling so far abroad I have to bring my own protection,” Agosta said, shaking LeClerc’s hand, then Enjolras’. “It is a pleasure to meet such a distinguished statesman and forward thinker,” he said amiably to Enjolras.

“I look forward to our discussion, _Signor_ Agosta,” Enjolras replied as Agosta broke their handshake. “I would also like to introduce _Signor_ Giovanni Riva from Venice, Citizens Patrice Joly and Jacques Thenardier from Paris, and last but definitely not the least my spouse Eponine,” he continued, indicating everyone else in turn.

“Ah yes, one of the most charming authoresses of Europe,” Agosta said, courteously kissing Eponine’s hand. “Will you be joining our little meeting?”

“It is strictly limited to diplomatic affairs,” Philippon cut in sharply. “Brilliant as she is touted to be, a bluestocking cannot contribute to this,” he added, his eyes flicking downwards momentarily towards Eponine’s décolletage once again.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow on seeing this. “She too is also a guest.”

“Apart from _Signor_ LeClerc and yourself, only _Signor_ Riva will be permitted to join us,” Philippon said curtly.

“But I am supposed to---” Jacques piped up.

“You may watch your sister and keep her out of trouble,” Philippon said, waving at him dismissively. “Shall we now, gentlemen?”

Enjolras gritted his teeth as he put a hand on Jacques’ shoulder, seeing that the latter was on the verge of tears. “Keep your eyes open in the meantime,” he said in an undertone.

“I was ready with notes from my reading on Sicily, including its merger with Naples,” Jacques sniffed, bringing out some papers he’d folded and stuffed in his coat pocket. He handed the notes to his brother-in-law. “I hope they help.”

“I won’t forget this,” Enjolras said gratefully. “Will you be needing this?” he asked Eponine, indicating the pistol he carried.

“You’ll need it to keep someone else from knocking his skull in,” Eponine said, glancing to where Agosta and Philippon were talking, with Riva and LeClerc trailing behind. “We won’t be far away, but you keep your eyes open too!”

“And you as well,” Enjolras said, nodding to Joly who returned this with a nervous smile. He walked quickly to where Philippon had ushered the other gentlemen into a nearby café. As he walked he took the opportunity to take a look at the notes that Jacques had handed over, which turned out to be some points on the leadership and climate of Sicily under its Bourbon king. As he looked up, he saw Philippon leading the rest of the group out a side door. _‘He had to choose the table out on the patio,’_ he seethed silently as he found a seat next to LeClerc, who was seated across from Riva and Agosta, with Philippon ensconced at the head of the table. From where they sat, the men had a view of the piazza and the Trevi Fountain opposite, obscured from time to time by large pots lined up along the rails and balustrade.

“This is a momentous occasion, gentlemen,” Philippon said after he had ordered a pot of coffee from a server. “Indeed we are honored for the Kingdom of Two Sicilies to establish stronger ties with the Republic of France—”

“Those ties were always there; our histories prove it. We have a Bourbon, a Spanish one but a Bourbon all the same, ruling over Sicily,” Agosta said agitatedly. “But what I want to know is what ties France would have with Sicily when the Bourbons are gone.”

‘ _Has he heard of Mazzini’s Risorgimento yet?’_ Enjolras wondered as he leaned forward in his seat. “Explain what you mean.”

“You French ejected the Bourbons and put in your Duc d’Orleans, who you ejected anyway but that is besides the point,” Agosta said. “Why should Sicilians suffer the rule of a king who is not one of their own?”

“Much of Italy is the same way, with the Austrians ruling over Lombardy-Venetia and the other independent duchies,” Riva pointed out. “But I hear it’s been years since the Sicilians ever rose against the Bourbons.”

“Yet the pride and distinction of Sicily as a kingdom of its own has never been forgotten, regardless of what you Venetians think of it,” Agosta retorted, turning up his nose. “Just because you consider us a kingdom of peasants---”

“I never said anything of that sort,”

“ _Signors_ , I think the topic of regional differences is best left for a merry debate in another occasion,” Enjolras said seriously as the server returned with their coffee. The acrid, burned aroma from the pot had him wrinkling his nose for a moment before he looked from Riva to Agosta. “Should the leadership of Sicily and Naples ever pass to the rule of the people, then France will honor its legitimacy.”

“Then you have no love for the Bourbons, one of your own?”

“If one equates love with filial obedience or leadership, then they no longer occupy that place, and have not done so for many years.” 

Agosta nodded before picking up his coffee cup, only to make a face after taking a sip. “It would be advantageous to have Sicily and Naples as two independent kingdoms. Apart from getting to govern our own affairs, France would get two allies. Venice too, should you succeed in removing Austrian rule,” he said as he set down the cup.

“Two kingdoms but under the confederacy of a Pope,” Philippon pointed out. “That would be the safest line of advocacy for you, _Signor_ Agosta.”

“When Sicily and Naples are free, then we shall talk if it is possible to go to heaven after,” Agosta said hotly. “If France and Spain can enjoy sovereignties separate from Papal rule, why should any of the kingdoms of this peninsula be any less?”

“There would not be a question of diminution or greatness if a united front was presented to divide temporal from spiritual authority,” Enjolras answered, looking sharply at Philippon. “It has been the case in France, Spain, and other states. England has its own system of a church, but the delineation is still clear.”

Agosta gaped at him. “And how would you do that?”

“A charter that would allow for freedom of worship and religion, regardless of creed, belief, sect or organization.”

“What, and we would extend that same privilege even to Jews and Mohammedans?”

‘ _Perhaps Jehan should have been invited to this conversation,’_ Enjolras thought as he steeled himself to drink the bitter coffee. “From a principled perspective, that protection ensures that no single group will declare itself a state religion or mandate the persecution of another group,” he said, trying to ignore the aftertaste. “From a purely utilitarian perspective, religious tolerance allows a better climate for commerce and trade from Europe and Asia.”

“And that would make Sicily a libertine state like France,” Agosta said acidly. “Now _that_ would bring us into conflict with the Holy See.”

“Whose temporal power is only confined to these states, if I recall correctly?” Enjolras inquired. “Unless you have clerics and their partisans holding positions of power in Sicily.”

“They need not do that to exercise the will of the Lord Himself,” Agosta said, his words drowned out by the sound of breaking glass and running footsteps from the general direction of the piazza and the Trevi Fountain. “What is that?”

“We have to get out of here,” Enjolras said even as he saw LeClerc put some coins on the table to pay for the coffee. He gritted his teeth on seeing that the patio they were on had only two exits: a stairway leading to the street and the door leading back into the café proper. ‘ _Which opens to the piazza either way, so let us go with the faster route before we’re trapped,’_ he decided as he motioned for his companions to keep their heads low as they exited.

Just as they were almost at the stairway, a couple of gunshots pierced the air, eliciting screams from within the café. “Go now! Go!” Riva hissed, half-shoving Philippon into Agosta, who then nearly collided into LeClerc. The Venetian looked fearfully at Enjolras. “Where to?”

“We will meet in the street,” Enjolras said, bringing out the pistol that Victoria had lent him. At that moment he saw five men, all carrying pistols and truncheons, burst in through the door from the café. ‘ _And this has only four bullets,’_ he noted, looking down at the revolver. He walked backwards as quietly as he could down the stairs till he reached a landing, from which point he elected to clear the railing and jump from there to the street below. Just as he did so he heard the men in the patio shouting and the telltale crack of a bullet being fired in his general direction. He quickly fired upwards, succeeding in shattering one of the pots on the railing and raining ceramic shards on the assailants.

Enjolras took the opportunity to run towards the fountain, only to find his way blocked by the panicking, shrieking crowd. ‘ _Another shot and this will be a stampede,’_ he realized even as he caught sight of what looked like two men scuffling with several others at the fountain, while a third had a knife pressed to the neck of a man in a green coat. He dashed towards this scene, only to suddenly see an older man approaching him, gun in hand. Enjolras put on a burst of speed to tackle this stranger to the side. In a moment he had wrested the pistol out of this assailant’s hand, only to receive a right hook to the jaw. Enjolras kicked out to the side, landing a blow on this stranger’s flank, sending him reeling in the general direction of the fountain.

It was all that Enjolras needed to get this gunman in a grapple hold against the fountain’s tiles. “Who sent you?” he demanded, shaking him slightly.

“Are you really going to shake an old man like that, Monsieur?” the stranger retorted in an English accent. “And with one hand too?”

Enjolras looked down and saw that this assassin had one arm of his coat pinned across his chest. He had only a split second to meet this Englishman’s grin before a sudden knee to his gut sent him stumbling backwards into the Trevi Fountain’s cold waters.


	65. Blood Brothers

**Chapter 65: Blood Brothers**

Eponine had known better than to wait inside the very same café where the meeting was taking place. ‘ _But that only means being a few steps too far from where it happens,’_ she realized as she saw the gunmen enter the establishment. “Do you see another way we can get in?” she asked Joly and Jacques furtively.

Joly pointed to a stairway leading up to an open patio. “Perhaps we can try there, but to what end?” he asked, gripping his cane tightly.

Eponine shook her head as she glanced down at her feet, which were shod in soft slippers. ‘ _No boots or anything other useful thing on us,’_ she thought as she glanced from Joly’s walking stick to Jacques’ bare hands. At that moment she caught sight of a flash of motion from the stairway she’d been eyeing, followed by one gunshot and then another. “Run!” she shouted over the shrieks and running footsteps in the piazza.

“Where?” Jacques asked, eyes widening as he looked around.

“The fountain,” Eponine said, pulling Joly and Jacques out into the open. Everyone in the piazza was running pell-mell in various directions even as uniformed constables rode in to try to calm the situation. She saw some scuffles now at the vicinity of the fountain, where some men were trying to wrest Ambassador Philippon into a carriage. ‘ _So that was their plan!’_ she realized with horror as she ran to this scene.

Before she could get there she saw one of the men nearest the fountain suddenly bring out a gun, clearly aiming it at a tall figure rushing towards this struggle. “Antoine, watch out!” she screamed even as Enjolras now turned to tackle and disarm this assailant. For a moment, Enjolras grappled with this unknown long enough to wrestle him to the ground, only to suddenly be forced backwards into the fountain, falling in with a loud splash.

‘ _Now that’s done it!’_ Eponine thought in a panic as she pushed her way past the astonished crowd at the fountain, just in time to see Enjolras surface, coughing up water. “Antoine, are you hurt? What did he do to you?” she asked, reaching over to pull him out of the fountain basin.

“A little winded,” Enjolras replied between splutters as he grabbed her hand. Once his feet were on dry ground he shook his wet hair out of his eyes. “Did I just—”

“Get pushed in, yes. Get that coat off before you’ll catch your death,” Eponine said, tugging at his soaked clothing. ‘ _But then again there’s the wind to worry about,’_ she thought as she shrugged off her own coat and draped it around Enjolras’ shoulders for warmth. She looked towards where the local constables, with the help of Joly, Riva, and LeClerc, were rounding up the men who had nearly snatched Philippon. “Where is that bastard who pushed you in?” she wondered aloud.

A screech came from one end of the piazza, towards the other side of the fountain. “Don’t think you will just get away with this, William Blakeney!” Victoria’s voice rose over the din. The Englishwoman soon appeared, half-dragging the one-armed English lord with her. “You have a lot of explaining to do!”

“Says the one who is betraying King and country,” Blakeney spat, trying to wrest himself from her grip. “What are you even doing with these blood-drinkers?”

Eponine shook her head at this scene. ‘ _I would not believe this if I hadn’t met him before,’_ she thought as she looked from Victoria’s indignant face to Blakeney’s haughty mien that soon changed into one of shock when he laid eyes on her. “Are you surprised to see me?” she asked him.

“Griffiths told me he was to take you out,” Blakeney snarled.

Eponine laughed. “I’ve survived being shot through at a barricade, you think I could be downed by a knock to the head?”

“Enjolras, Eponine!” Joly called as he jogged up from where he had been checking over Philippon, as well as LeClerc, Riva, and Agosta. “The ambassador is asking if we can take this indoors,” he said. “And I think he needs a place to recover his nerves.”

“Our lodgings are closer,” Enjolras said, nodding to Jacques who was a few steps behind Joly. He saw Victoria frown at this. “Will you need to send word?” he asked her.

“Yes, to the embassy and to my husband of course. He would want to be around,” Victoria said. “The latter first,” she added, nodding to Joly.

Joly nodded before looking at Enjolras and Eponine. “Will you both be fine? I think Combeferre might still be there.”

“Hopefully he is, and not on some lark throughout the city with the others,” Eponine mused as Joly took his leave to return to the apartment near the Piazza Navona, while the rest of their group went back in the direction of the Spanish Steps. It was all she could do to keep her head low as they walked, knowing all too well how people were stopping to whisper or at least do double-takes as they passed, owing to Enjolras still being drenched, Philippon’s shaken countenance and Blakeney’s continued grumbling. ‘ _How many other eyes does Citizen D’Aramitz have in this city?’_ she wondered as she ran up ahead to the second floor to knock on the apartment door.

It was all she could do to keep a straight face on seeing Combeferre open the door. “You wouldn’t believe who we caught at the Trevi Fountain today,” she greeted.

Combeferre’s jaw dropped as he took in the sight of the rest of the group. “Do I want to know how this transpired?” he asked, stepping aside to let everyone in.

“Only Citizen Philippon is of medical interest,” LeClerc said, gesturing to the still dazed looking ambassador who was being propped up by Riva and Agosta. He nodded to Lamarre, who had been engrossed in a chess game with Courfeyrac. “I think you will want to handle this,” he said in a confidential whisper.

Lamarre cringed on seeing Victoria with Lord Blakeney in tow. “Someone should go fetch the English ambassador then.”

“I’ll do that,” Riva said, helping Philippon onto the chaise so that Combeferre could begin examining the diplomat. “Thank you for helping us today, _Signor_ Agosta,” Riva said to the Sicilian.

“It is unfortunate that we were so interrupted,” Agosta said courteously. “I would like to meet with you and _Signor_ Enjolras again, and with _Signora_ Enjolras too,” he added.

“You know exactly where to find us, _Signor_ ,” Eponine said before Agosta bowed and left with Riva and LeClerc in tow. She saw Courfeyrac nod to Jacques to follow him out of the room even as Victoria pushed Blakeney into a seat. ‘ _He knows that my brother isn’t exactly to be privy to this,’_ she thought even as she and Enjolras retreated to their own room.

Once in the privacy of their chamber, Enjolras quickly took off the rather small coat draped over his shoulders and then set on the side table the gun that Victoria had lent him earlier that day. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have sent _all_ our clothes to the laundress,” he muttered as he unbuttoned his soaked waistcoat.

“I s’pose we might be able to find something else for you to wear in the meantime,” Eponine suggested as she helped Enjolras take off the rest of his clothes. “For a moment there you had Lord Blakeney in hand. What happened?” she asked him softly.

“I was caught off-guard by his missing an arm,” Enjolras replied ruefully as he shook his head. “How did that come about?”

“I remember he mentioned it as having come off after a battle when he was still a young boy, even younger than my brothers are now,” Eponine said. The very sight of Enjolras completely nude was enough to send a familiar heat pooling in her stomach but she settled for kissing him soundly before silently exiting the room in search of something for him to wear. ‘ _Perhaps Courfeyrac will have something with him,’_ she thought as she went down the hall.

She followed the sound of her brother and Courfeyrac conversing till she found the room they had ensconced themselves in to start a new game of chess. “You probably already know what I’m going to ask for,” she quipped when Courfeyrac let her in. “Where is everyone else?”

“Grantaire and Jehan went to get something at a bookstore, Bossuet went for food,” Courfeyrac said as he rummaged through his clothes before bringing out a dressing gown. “This is the only thing I have that might fit Enjolras. He’s taller though so this might be brief,” he said.

“I s’pose it will have to do for now,” Eponine said, biting her lip to stifle her laughter as she held out the garment. She stole back to her room only to find Enjolras dismantling the pistol that had been in his coat during the altercation at the fountain. “Is that necessary?” she asked.

“I will not give this back in a rusted condition,” Enjolras replied, setting some of the pistol parts on the side table. He raised an eyebrow on seeing the dressing gown. “And that?”

“Unless you want to sit around in this room all day?” Eponine pointed out.

Enjolras smirked, looking up from his work. “Do you have any objection to that?”

Eponine laughed even as she felt heat rising to her cheeks again. Before she could say anything to this she heard some muffled cursing in English from the living room. “I s’pose I should go see what that is about,” she said before quickly leaving the room.

When she returned to the living room she had to pause once again at the sight before her. Victoria was standing with her hands akimbo, watching as Admiral Calamy paced the room. Lord Blakeney sat in his chair, resting his forehead on his lone hand. “Is everything well?” she asked the trio worriedly.

Victoria shook her head. “It was William, I mean Lord Blakeney, who helped Lord Griffiths get to Florence,” she said. “You can pass that information along to the consul there if need be.”

Eponine nodded slowly as she looked from Admiral Calamy to Lord Blakeney. “Why?”

“That is precisely what I want to know too,” Admiral Calamy said hotly, looking at Lord Blakeney. “I understand that you and Lord Griffiths go back a long way, Wil, even longer than myself and Victoria. But to take part in a plot of this magnitude, and one involving murder too? This is not you, my friend”

“You talk as if you haven’t killed a man before, Peter,” Lord Blakeney challenged.

“In actual combat at sea, not like this!”

“What difference does that make?”

“It makes all the difference when that plotting almost killed him and almost made me a widow during our time in Venice,” Victoria cut in, glaring at Lord Blakeney. “Does that possibility not matter to you?”

Lord Blakeney stiffened. “I never intended for you two to be involved in this,” he muttered.

“Then who? Dr. Maturin?” Victoria asked. “Unless you suddenly have taken an interest in being part of the British intelligence operations, I cannot think of a reason for you or Lord Griffiths to be in Italy at this time of the year.”

“And you are here on official business, with the French?” Lord Blakeney asked, looking with disgust at Eponine. “Our sworn enemy---”

“Enemy? You and your wife received me as well as the Ambassador and our companions at your home,” Eponine chimed in. “Though I should not have been surprised anymore, after how you treated us with that incident with Lord Griffiths.”

Lord Blakeney looked at her haughtily. “I regret ever receiving you.”

“And you never shall again, so I s’pose you get your wish.”

Admiral Calamy rubbed his temples. “We’re not at war anymore with the French or anyone, Wil. We’ve spent our best years fighting so far from home for a kingdom that would have easily replaced us if we’d fallen in combat. I had thought that someday we could lay it down, and have a world at peace. For once, Wil!”

“And let the French and their ideas take over?” Lord Blakeney retorted. “We did not fight for our English freedoms to be overtaken by the rabble, or have our alliances compromised. It is the only way to keep the peace we have nearly died for, Peter!”

Admiral Calamy shook his head. “Not if it means innocent lives who never asked for a war. People died in Venice. It almost happened too in Florence, but people were prepared to meet Lord Griffiths then.” He looked grimly at Eponine for a moment and then back at Lord Blakeney. “There is a difference between a civilian and people like us who go to war willingly.”

“Then you yourself admit we are at war?”

“A war I mean to do my part in ending. I’ve lost my father to it and many of our friends. I think I’ve lived enough of my life between guns and shadows.”

Lord Blakeney looked down for a moment, clearly at a loss for words. “I thought that you, of all people would understand. You have always been like a brother to me, Peter. Are you going to set that aside now?”

Before Admiral Calamy could speak again, Victoria stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Our past is the only reason we are not turning you over straightaway to the Roman police so you’d rot in a cell in the Castel Sant’Angelo,” she said sternly to Lord Blakeney.

Lord Blakeney’s eyes narrowed as he regarded her. “What are you offering, Victoria?”

“A way home, if you tell us where Theophile D’Aramitz is.” Victoria paused when she saw Lord Blakeney’s eyes widen at these words. “We know he was the one who sent you to the Trevi Fountain today.”

Before Lord Blakeney could say anything, a knock sounded on the door. “And what is this now?” he asked.

“Our embassy,” Victoria said, stepping aside to open the door. She nodded to LeClerc and Riva, as well as the English attaches with them. “Maybe there, you might have a chance to consider what I am offering before the ambassador decides to send you home in disgrace.”


	66. The Price of Intrigue

**Chapter 66: The Price of Intrigue**

Long after the representatives of the English embassy had carted off the errant Lord Blakeney, Enjolras still could not quiet the tempest that had been brewing in his mind ever since the incident at the Trevi Fountain. ‘ _There has to be a way to have Blakeney give up what he knows of D’Aramitz,’_ he mused silently the next morning upon finding himself wide awake at dawn. For a few minutes he replayed the events of the previous day, before finally turning his attention to the woman still sound asleep next to him. He reached over to pull Eponine’s tousled hair out of her face just so he could brush his lips over her cheek. He smiled when he felt her stir and turn towards him slightly. “Eponine, wake up,” he whispered.

Eponine smiled drowsily for a moment before burying her face further in the pillow. “A few more minutes.”

“Very well then,” Enjolras said, pulling up the thin blanket over her shoulders to give her some warmth before he sat up in bed and reached for his notebook on the bedside table. He opened the worn volume to some of the pages he had filled up during his travels, looking once more for any clue regarding D’Aramitz’s dealings or the consequences thereof. ‘ _But then again he has fooled even senior members of the diplomatic corps, so his tracks are covered even from the inside,’_ he realized.

After a while he felt the bed shift as Eponine’s arms slipped around his shoulders. “Antoine, come back to me,” she whispered in his ear. “We don’t have to be anywhere early today.”

“At least nowhere that we know of,” he pointed out. He shut his eyes for a few moments to relish the feeling of Eponine’s hands in his hair, rubbing his scalp in soothing circles. “You could go back to sleep if you like.”

“With you reading up like that? I s’pose not,” Eponine retorted. “Are you thinking about yesterday again?”

“How did you guess?”

“I know how you are when you don’t get your questions answered.”

Enjolras smirked as he set the notebook aside and turned to look at her properly. “Nothing gets past you, Eponine,” he said, earning him that wondrous sight of his wife blushing at the compliment. “Perhaps you could tell me what you’ve noticed.”

Eponine’s expression was pensive as she lay back down again and pulled him down to lie next to her. She kissed him as she clasped his hand. “Lord Blakeney says that what he was doing is part of keeping the peace, but Admiral Calamy said that it was a state of war. I s’pose that Admiral Calamy is right since even Victoria said something about a game of spies. But how can there be peace in that?”

“A peace that is maintained by constant tension and gameplaying perhaps,” he noted as he began to rub the back of her neck. “That is if Lord Blakeney defines peace as the absence of open war throughout Europe.”

“There’s always some sort of trouble in Europe,” she scoffed. “I mean you yourself saw all that mess in Spain, and we both remember how France wasn’t much better till a few years ago. Then that is not even counting what else has happened like Greece becoming a kingdom onto itself, or anything and everything that goes on in Poland.”

“Perhaps what they mean is a peace without the threat of a figure like Buonaparte.”

“Antoine, must you really still pronounce his name in that old-fashioned way?”

“We must call him by his proper name, as he would have been called if he retained the position of Citizen instead of seizing that of Emperor,” Enjolras pointed out, earning him another eyeroll. “What do the English call him?”

“Bonaparte, of course. Well that’s only when they mean to be polite,” Eponine replied. “On other days “little colonel” or “little general” is what you’d hear from them.”

Before Enjolras could say anything to this he heard footsteps outside the door. “Who’s there?” he called.

“Only a letter,” Jacques replied drowsily. “Someone was knocking on the door, from the French embassy.”

Enjolras sat up in bed in time to see an envelope being slid under the door. He picked up this envelope, only to find that it was covered in stamps, with the earliest of them being from Madrid. “This could only be from one person,” he mused aloud as he opened the envelope.

_June 14, 1842_

_Madrid, Spain_

_Dear Citizen Enjolras,_

_It is my wish that this letter finds you and Citizen Thenardier in good health, and warmly welcomed by both our French compatriots as well as the Italians in each state. For my part I am doing at least better in terms of my bodily recovery even if two urgent matters have weighed on my spirits and this embassy lately._

_Our good friend Senyor Pasqual has passed on peacefully, owing in no small part to the injuries he sustained in Madrid. I will be leaving shortly to accompany his mortal remains for burial in Catalonia, the land he loved with all his heart and soul. His poor daughter Maria Jacinta is with her relatives, if you recall, but once the appropriate period of mourning is up she will likely be married off to a gentleman of her uncles’ choosing. It grieves me deeply to know that in part my own negligence led indirectly to his death, which will be explained in the next paragraph._

_The negligence here pertains to one who we both trusted, Citizen D’Aramitz. Perhaps our years of working together in Spain made me too complacent and trusting, such that I long neglected to screen his communications and notes, as an ambassador in a country of intrigue ought to do. Over a period of several years, he was using his capacity as an attache to sway matters within the Spanish Cortes and the émigré community, which is not entirely surprising. Lately, it has come to light that he has served as a go-between for some factions in Spain with secret counterparts who are working for the Papal States and the expansion of Rome’s social and political reach. He has also been corresponding with agents in England in this same line---a trend which started only in this year and has led to the rise of rumors of the government giving way for the English in trade. These of course run contrary to French foreign policy as well as General Espartero’s actual governance._

_You might ask how all these were suddenly made known. Apparently you have made such an impression on the young de Polignacs specifically, such that they set up a means to trap Citizen du Bellay into revealing his alliance with Citizen D’Aramitz during a luncheon hosted by Senora de Polignac herself. During that meeting, Citizen du Bellay confessed to having engineered the incident that ultimately led to Senyor Pasqual’s demise. Naturally, the interference of an immigrant is no small matter especially when it is linked to the death of a Spaniard, so a full investigation was launched by General Espartero himself. Had you not spoken to General Espartero personally before leaving Madrid, it might have gone far worse for all of us._

_I have enclosed a copy of the deposition I have sent ahead to Paris, asking for Citizen D’Aramitz to be fully investigated by our Home Office. After Senyor Pasqual’s burial, I will go myself to France to see to this matter personally._

_May you and Citizen Thenardier be safe in Italy, and may we meet at better times._

_Your friend,_

_Luc Belmont_

This letter accompanied a detailed list of intercepted communications and rendezvous points, some written in Spanish and others in French. Enjolras set the latter aside before folding the letter more reverently and placing it on the bedside table. “This terrible intrigue has claimed another life,” he said gravely as he lay back down again.

Eponine bit her lip as she inched closer to him and put a hand on his chest. “Whose?”

“A good man named Pasqual. He was our guide and liaison from Catalonia,” Enjolras replied, even as he silently tried to recall the days that he, Jacques, and Belmont had spent with this acquaintance. “You would have liked him. He was a courageous man of letters.”

“And he was also an enemy of Citizen D’Aramitz?”

“Not directly, but definitely working at cross purposes with some of his allies.”

She winced at this. “Enough for a murder to happen?” she asked.

“Unless we have Citizen D’Aramitz or some more material evidence in hand, we cannot prove any intent,” he replied. “It is also likely that he did not intend for an actual manslaughter to take place.”

“Then what did he want to happen?” Eponine asked quizzically. “What good would spooking a diplomat or two do?”

“It would make them too cautious,” Enjolras pointed out. “While they are watching their backs, that is when other elements start moving in.”

Eponine sighed deeply as she rested her chin on his shoulder. “And now you’ll be wondering what exactly he wanted to move in with getting Citizen Belmont out of the way, and what does this have to do with Lord Griffiths and Lord Blakeney.”

‘ _Belmont did mention a rumor of some sort about the English,’_ Enjolras thought as he picked up the letter to review it once more. “Actuality is one thing, appearance is another,” he thought aloud as he set the letter aside and looked at Eponine. “The rumor was made for a reason.” 

“Are you thinking that someone just wants to make it _look like_ England and Spain are allies or starting to become so?”

“It is a theory worth testing. You see it too.”

“It would explain why they also bother so much with Italy, or maybe the other way around,” Eponine said. She frowned at the sound of more footsteps in the general direction of the apartment’s living room. “Now who could be visiting at this hour?”

A hurried knock sounded on the door. “I’m not sure what you two are doing in there, but we already have company for breakfast,” Courfeyrac said cautiously. “The Calamys are here again.”

“We’ll be out in a little while; I just need to get the feeling back in my legs,” Eponine called nonchalantly as she stretched in the bed.

Enjolras felt his face grow hot at these words. “The things you say sometimes, Eponine!” he muttered under his breath.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him a bit,” she said innocently as she got out of bed. “It’s a good thing we both got one outfit each back from the laundress, with the rest to come later.”

“Indeed,” he noted as he also stood up to find his clothes. A quick look at his watch told him that it was only seven in the morning. “Did you have anything else planned for today?”

Eponine paused in the middle of putting on her chemise. “Maybe we can actually go around Rome a little, and stay dry this time around? Unless of course that Signor Agosta does mean to invite us and Signor Riva to dinner.”

“Until he sends any official summons, I am at liberty,” Enjolras informed her as he went to help her lace up her stays. “It is unlikely that Citizen Philippon will want to see us anytime soon, unless his hand is forced into apprehending Citizen D’Aramitz.”

“I’ve met four ambassadors in these past few months, and only Citizen Coquelin was agreeable _and_ knew what he was doing,” Eponine pointed out. “Citizen Delaroche was sometimes difficult when things did not go his way, and we all saw what happened with Citizen Brisbois. I s’pose LeClerc was mistaken with thinking that Citizen Philippon was straightforward.”

“Perhaps he was that way once, before this convoluted mess began,” Enjolras observed as he finished putting on his clothes. He clasped Eponine’s hands before she could don her gloves. “We’ll have time today, I promise.”

“Are you sure?”

“We are getting our clothes back. That is one obstacle removed.”

Eponine snorted. “You should hear the things _you_ say at times,” she said as she pulled her gloves on smartly and then went to open the bedroom door.


	67. Castillan Nightmare Tonic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for some discussion of that vial of opiate again.

**Chapter 67: Castillan Nightmare Tonic**

After ten years of friendship, with nine of those years being married, Eponine knew all too well just what was behind Enjolras’ being calm after receiving terrible news. ‘ _He’ll do something about the problem, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling worse about things later,’_ she thought as they went to join their English guests for breakfast. She made sure to clasp his hand before he could let them both into the living room. “They wouldn’t be here so early if they didn’t have news,” she said to him in Occitan.

Enjolras nodded grimly. “Let’s hope it brings us closer to our quarry,” he said before pushing the door open. “Good morning friends,” he greeted, seeing that Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, Joly, Bossuet, Grantaire, Musichetta, Nicholine, Riva, and Lamarre were also seated with the Calamys at the breakfast table.

“Well now that you’re both here, there’s not much use in waiting for LeClerc and Jacques to wake up and join us,” Admiral Calamy said, stopping only to rub his still healing arm. “Lord Blakeney agreed to Victoria’s proposal--- an honorable passage to England in exchange for information on D’Aramitz’s whereabouts.”

Eponine’s jaw dropped even as she sat down in a chair that Enjolras pulled out for her, next to his. “How did you two manage that?” she asked the two English visitors.

“It was a long discussion,” Victoria said, pursing her lips slightly. “D’Aramitz is under the protection of the archpriest at Saint Peter’s Basilica. He has taken lodgings in the vicinity of Saint Peter’s Square.”

“Saint Peter’s, as in at the Vatican?” Bossuet clarified. “Well he’s chosen quite a nest!”

“It is likely only one among several,” Enjolras said, now bringing out the deposition he had received earlier in the day. “This came from Ambassador Belmont, in Spain. It would appear as if Citizen D’Aramitz has long been in communication with agents here in Rome. It is possible that any one of them would be ready to shelter him at a moment’s notice.”

Almost everybody at the table groaned at this revelation. “This might mean we will be looking through Rome in circles, till he decides to flee and throw us off!” Lamarre exclaimed. “How far do his connections go anyway?”

“Well there’s one way to find out,” Riva said. “Enjolras, does that list sent to you have any mention of the Quirinal Palace?”

Enjolras’ eyebrows shot up as he went through the papers in his hands. “Around five.”

“That means his connections go as far as the Papal household, or at least someone in Pope Gregory’s inner circle,” Riva said, sighing deeply when Lamarre groaned again as most of the other French exchanged dismayed looks. “The Quirinal Palace is the official residence of the Pope,” he explained, looking at Enjolras and the Calamys.

“He probably isn’t there all the time, so there’s a period or two wherein he isn’t hiding behind the cassocks,” Courfeyrac pointed out.

“Nearly every place mentioned as a rendezvous or a point of communication is a church or some religious site,” Enjolras said as he continued looking through the list. “Not surprisingly there are no civic or secular buildings on this list.”

Lamarre shook his head. “How can that be? Citizen D’Aramitz is not a cleric, and he cannot be that highly favored by the clergy even here.”

“It is more likely that these places are so public that no one would suspect him to be more than a devotee meeting a religious,” Enjolras noted. “That is to say, he is hiding in plain sight.”

“Which would put him above the suspicion of the local authorities, be they the Pope’s personal forces or the Roman police,” Combeferre concurred. “A clever sort of camouflage.”

“It is a ploy that Blakeney would know too,” Admiral Calamy said. “That tactic of looking innocuous in front of one’s pursuers worked just as well at sea,” he added in a more far off tone.

“It is also how Blakeney and even Lord Griffiths got to Italy. They came in the guise of pilgrims,” Victoria said. “Apparently that hideout in Clerkenwell was also a staging point for a false series of identities to allow them to have the papers to travel here.”

‘ _How did she get him to confess to all of that?’_ Eponine wondered, but before she could voice this out the topic soon turned to plans for another day of sight-seeing combined with some shopping. ‘ _Which we should find some room to do too,’_ she thought as she glanced at Enjolras, who had set the list aside only to begin eating his breakfast.

As soon as everyone was finished eating, Eponine waited for Victoria to rise from the table, only to see the older woman quickly pull Combeferre and Joly into a conversation on a scientific lecture. “Maybe it wasn’t Victoria who got Lord Blakeney to squeal,” she muttered as she went to where Admiral Calamy was opening a box of cigars.

The Englishman closed the box quickly upon seeing her. “What more do you want to know?”

“I just want to be sure that what he told you was actually correct,” Eponine answered. “It wouldn’t make sense for him to just give up the game even for a promise of getting home.”

“A promise that allows him to keep his good name, and his life as well,” Admiral Calamy said. He looked pensively out over the Roman skyline. “He will get the clemency he at least deserves, and that Lord Griffiths does not. I heard that the latter almost shot you in the back?”

Eponine nodded. “At least Lord Blakeney was face to face with my husband before shoving him into the Trevi Fountain.”

“Wil always knew how to fight with some honor.” Admiral Calamy twiddled the cigar between his fingers. “His cooperation may allow him to become a witness, especially when an investigation is launched concerning the Mazzini matter. That way he will be protected by our Admiralty and the British intelligence.”

“What will he need some protecting from?”

“From the people who no longer find him useful.”

Eponine bit her lip, feeling now the chill in the Admiral’s words. ‘ _No wonder why Victoria wants to put an end to this game,’_ she thought as she went to where Enjolras and Courfeyrac were poring over a map of the city. “So where do you mean to follow him?” she asked them.

“Aside from Saint Peter’s Square and its environs, the Pantheon is promising,” Enjolras said, looking up briefly at her. “It is mentioned quite frequently in Citizen Belmont’s deposition.”

“The Pantheon? Sounds like some temple and not a church,” Eponine remarked.

“It started off as a temple before being converted or perhaps the term that the clergy prefer is ‘consecrated’,” Courfeyrac replied. “All that ritual does not detract from its grand façade.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to also watch for him at the Quirinal Palace?” Prouvaire chimed in, now joining them.

Enjolras shook his head. “It is too conspicuous. We would be caught by the Pope’s Swiss Guards or even by the cardinals.” He pointed to the palace on the map. “It is on the highest hill of the seven hills of Rome. It is impossible to be concealed.”

‘ _Yet it is possible we might have to go there all the same,’_ Eponine thought with a shudder. “How shall we go about casing him, if he will bolt at the sight of us.”

“That is why you will have to wear black,” Musichetta said from her perch on the chaise. “That way you will blend in with the pilgrims and the regular churchgoers.”

“I look horrible in black,” Eponine said, shaking her head. She jumped up from her seat to grab Musichetta’s arm. “I don’t mean to sound vain, but you do remember how I looked during the funeral for Citizen Valjean? I know there is meant to be some fashion with mourning, but what it does for me is make me look like some wisp worth fainting away,” she whispered.

“No one will notice behind a mantilla, Eponine,” Musichetta said reassuringly as she took Eponine’s arms. “And even so, just for your sake, there are ways to pin it to your hair so nicely so that you look like a fine lady and not like a dowager.”

“Wont the priests have something to say to that?”

“If you keep your head low, they won’t.”

‘ _Going about with Antoine, that will be impossible,’_ Eponine realized as she squeezed Musichetta’s arms before getting up to go where Enjolras and Courfeyrac were still deep in discussion. She sat beside her husband and squeezed his hand. “I think I’d like to see the Pantheon myself today,” she said.

“What time will you go?”

“The same time you will go to Saint Peter’s Square.”

Enjolras looked at her knowingly. “Today, our plan does not involve catching D’Aramitz. We can only shadow him today till we have some idea of his habits and where he may best be accosted,” he told her.

“And what if he chooses to leave straightaway?”

“It is important not to give him cause to. I doubt his business in Rome is concluded yet.”

‘ _He means to catch that man straight in the act,’_ Eponine realized with a chill. She chafed his wrist nervously. “You think that Victoria will lend you her pistol a little longer?” she asked.

“If she does not need it herself,” Enjolras said. “I will find some ammunition for the two guns I brought. Will you need for your own?”

“I haven’t had the chance to use any of mine yet,” Eponine confessed. “I s’pose I should hope not to, not while we are in Rome.”

A knock sounded on the door, which Riva immediately opened. He returned carrying three sealed envelopes. “One for each of us,” he said, handing two of the missives to Enjolras and Eponine. “Signor Agosta intends to come through with his promise of dinner.”

“Naturally, or this trip to Italy would be for naught,” Enjolras pointed out as he opened his envelope. “I hope you are at liberty tonight, Citizen Riva,” he continued. “Our assignation is at the Piazza di Santa Maria in Trastevere, at eight in the evening.”

“That is on the other side of the Tiber from here, and also a good long way from Saint Peter’s Square,” Victoria informed them. “It is a neighborhood worth seeing for any traveler.”

‘ _Which would mean that whatever watching we do has to finish before six or so,’_ Eponine realized as she glanced down at her own watch. “It’s terrible that I’d have to wear black today, especially when there is an important dinner afoot,” she remarked.

“Black is only the custom for official functions, or yes for pilgrims,” Victoria said. “Though I think the cover of an irreverent tourist suits you better.”

Combeferre cleared his throat. “In the event we are able to find out Citizen D’Aramitz’s habits, how will we actually catch him?”

“We’ll need some reinforcements for that; I will try to convince Citizen Philippon,” Lamarre said. “I do fear we may have to go on our own efforts and considering how many gunfights we have all been in this month alone, I do not feel confident about this.”

“He’d have to be caught alone, and overpowered,” Joly pointed out. “There are ways to do that without causing much damage.”

“Drugging him would do,” Victoria suggested. “Especially if he is so overconfident as to leave his food and beverages lying about.”

‘ _Would laudanum suffice?’_ Eponine wondered, all the while giving Enjolras a sidelong glance. “You know exactly what I mean,” she whispered to him.

“I would not wish that on Citizen D’Aramitz,” Enjolras replied. He raised an eyebrow on realizing that everyone in the room was looking at them. “I have something in my possession that would be of interest, but I would prefer having either Combeferre or Joly examine it first. I had to purchase it in Madrid,” he said before excusing himself. He returned a few moments later with a small glass vial in hand, which he handed to the two physicians.

Combeferre uncorked the vial and sniffed its contents. “Enjolras, is this what I think it is?”

“It is.”

“You got a consult before using this, I hope?”

“Yes, and I have had only occasion to use it once,” Enjolras said, looking his friend in the eye.

Joly sniffed the vial and shook his head. “The tincture itself is not pure enough for use. It happens sometimes with processing opium. I would not dare to mix this with anything alcoholic.”

Grantaire burst out laughing. “It would appear that you have Castillan Nightmare Tonic instead of a useful nepenthe!”

“All the more reason not to resort to this. I would rather we capture him in a fair fight,” Enjolras said. “He is just one man, and there are at least ten of us here who are more than willing and able to take him down.”

“Even with his habit of marshalling aid from the oddest places?” Eponine asked.

“That is exactly why we need to watch him, and see if our numbers match his.”


	68. Over the Tombs and Under Heaven

**Chapter 68: Over the Tombs and Under Heaven**

“In the off-chance you see the Pope, he will be the only one wearing a white cassock and perhaps a red cope in his retinue. We’ll know exactly who to stay away from.”

Enjolras nodded at this bit of information even as he looked around the wide expanse of Saint Peter’s Square. “Is there a particular reason for that?” he asked Lamarre.

The diplomat shrugged. “I’ve read it was red for martyrdom and white for purity. Maybe LeClerc or Riva can clear that up for you when we next meet.”

‘ _Hopefully their errand at the Pantheon will go well,’_ Enjolras thought as he gripped his borrowed walking stick more tightly and looked at his other companions, which were comprised of Courfeyrac, Jean Prouvaire, Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta and Admiral Calamy. All of them were dressed in traveling coats and hats over black or other somber-colored attire, to suggest them being pilgrims newly arrived in Rome.

“We’re in the middle of the square, so this is a good place to start,” Courfeyrac said, spreading his arms out for emphasis. “We can cover four directions at once, then meet back here.”

“Are we looking for his exact lodgings, like the room he might have been assigned to?” Musichetta asked, pulling her black mantilla more tightly around her head so that it fully covered her luxurious dark curls.

“That, and the company he keeps,” Enjolras replied. “Are we risking interrupting any Masses or services?”

Bossuet shook his head. “Only the Liturgy of the Hours, at three in the afternoon if I am not mistaken. If he keeps company with monks or priests, he might say it with them at the church.”

“We’ll meet there in an hour,” Enjolras said. ‘ _The Basilica will take long to search, so it is best to end there in case we need more time,’_ he thought. “Are there any concerns?”

“If this should miscarry, where should we meet?” Joly asked. “Here or at the entrance?”

“It would be best to rendezvous elsewhere,” Admiral Calamy said. “Preferably not at either of our apartments, so as to prevent any suspicion.”

“Across the Tiber should do it. What about the Pantheon?” Courfeyrac suggested.

Enjolras nodded as he glanced at his watch, which showed the time to be just a few minutes to two in the afternoon. ‘ _Eponine should be there with Combeferre, Jacques, Grantaire, Nicholine, Riva, LeClerc and Victoria by now,’_ he observed as he put the watch back in his fob before looking at the rest of the group. “Keep your eyes open and your heads low. We do not mean to nab him today,” he instructed them.

“And if he runs?” Musichetta asked.

“He will not,” Enjolras said confidently before tipping his hat to her. He then walked with Jean Prouvaire to the colonnades on the north side of Saint Peter’s Square, where the tall edifices of the Apostolic Palace loomed. He cast a glance towards where Joly and Musichetta were walking towards the south colonnades, while Admiral Calamy and Lamarre doubled back to the square’s entrance as Courfeyrac and Bossuet ventured towards Saint Peter’s Basilica.

Jean Prouvaire whistled as he surveyed the large building at the end of the north colonnade. “What are the chances of us being able to get inside there?” he asked as he adjusted his oversized plumed hat.

“Perhaps through some garden entrance,” Enjolras suggested. The colonnade itself was eerily quiet; no priests, bishops or even passers-by could be seen. He espied a small entrance opening out to a path leading to a courtyard. This fully paved atrium was surrounded by several buildings and a large tower. “Nothing in here suggests guest lodgings,” he remarked, seeing that most of the entrances were barred by iron grilles.

“I imagine that he is being unofficially housed in quarters within,” the poet said. He looked up towards the windows of the palace and the tower. “I don’t see anyone here now. Unless we are going to disguise ourselves as guards or servants, we’re likely to be thrown out since we are supposed to be simple pilgrims.”

“Well, where do you think a pilgrim would go?”

“The Sistine Chapel is always an inspiration.”

‘ _Well played, brother,’_ Enjolras thought even as they backtracked in the general direction of the colonnade, where there were now more people all filing into a passage leading up into the palace proper. Enjolras and Prouvaire followed these strangers through several winding corridors and a few large chambers before arriving at a pair of stately wooden doors, where people were being admitted only in small groups. ‘ _Should I doff my hat while I am here?’_ he wondered worriedly as he observed the other pilgrims.

Prouvaire tapped his arm. “We need to go forward; that’s our way out to the basilica,” he said in an undertone.

“That is rather impractical, isn’t it?” Enjolras wondered aloud as they stepped past the doors and into the Sistine Chapel. ‘ _Far smaller than Notre Dame but just as grand,’_ he decided as he took in the sight of the chapel’s intricate and colorful frescoes. “Which one of these was made by Michelangelo?” he asked.

“He painted “The Last Judgment” over there behind the altar and of course the entire ceiling vault, but for heaven’s sake do not disregard the works of Botticelli, Rosseli, Perugino and the rest!” Prouvaire whispered enthusiastically, gesturing to a row of frescoes depicting the life of Moses.

“Indeed,” Enjolras said, now looking more carefully at the colorful panels Prouvaire pointed out on the south wall, before turning his attention to the frescoes on the north wall showing the life of Jesus from several Gospels. Inevitably however his gaze drifted upwards to the ceiling, and he walked forward so that he was standing almost under the panel depicting God separating Light from Darkness, represented by four nubile male figures. ‘ _In a way, the use of Man instead of chimeras or angels in this scene makes it more apt for this day and age,’_ he mused.

Prouvaire on the other hand was wide-eyed and smiling from ear to ear as he now looked up at the panel showing the Creation of Adam. “Combeferre mentioned once that the composition of God with His angels as He reaches out to Adam is a little in the form of the human brain. I wonder if that was intentional,” he whispered. “But what I admire is Michelangelo’s consistency in depicting the nobility of the human person.”

“Don’t say that where Grantaire can hear you.”

“I’m saying that simply because he isn’t here now.”

At that moment Enjolras caught sight of a short man in a long black cassock now approaching them. “Good day to you, Father,” he greeted the cleric in Italian.

The priest blinked at him confusedly. “I beg your pardon?” he replied, also in Italian.

“Forgive my friend, he is new to the language,” Prouvaire said, now sallying forward. “He’s a pilgrim who has just come from Spain.”

“Catalonia,” Enjolras amended. ‘ _It would excuse having difficulty with Spanish as well,’_ he thought. “My companion here is also a pilgrim, from Sardinia,” he added in Spanish.

Prouvaire’s eyes widened for a moment before he smiled at the priest. “It’s our first time in Rome, so of course we had to stop here,” he said in Italian.

The priest smiled even as he gestured to the expansive fresco of “The Last Judgment”. “It is easy to get caught up in the grandeur of the ceiling, when it is that which should remind us of our ultimate destiny.” He peered at Enjolras quizzically for a moment. “Do not mistake me; I am honored that a Spanish pilgrim should come all the way here. But was the shrine in Santiago de Compostela not enough?” he asked in Spanish.

“I have some questions which may be answered here in Rome,” Enjolras said in a level tone, not quite caring to correct his Spanish.

“Is it a miracle you seek?”

“No. I have no use for them.”

The priest’s brow furrowed as he looked from Enjolras to Prouvaire. “Then what is it that you hope to find in Rome? You will not find anything here if you do not come with even a mustard seed of faith.”

Enjolras smiled wryly at this reference to a parable. “It isn’t matters of faith that concern me,” he said at length.

The priest nodded with a kinder smile on his face. “Then if you are a weary man, you may find rest here should you seek it. I pray for the best on your journey.”

“And I wish you the best in yours,” Enjolras answered, also managing a smile. ‘ _What I am weary of is seeing all this destruction, on account of one man’s ambition,’_ he thought as he looked towards the fresco that the priest had pointed out. “Was he trying to tell us something with that?” he asked Prouvaire in Occitan.

“Nothing of use to us,” Prouvaire replied. “That work is sullied; look at the robes and drapes given to the saints and angels towards the heavens. That’s the work of Daniele de Voltera the Breeches-Maker, as well as whoever as commissioned after him to revise Michelangelo’s work .”

Enjolras smirked upon seeing the contrast of the fresco behind the altar to those all over the ceiling; on “The Last Judgment” the various figures were modestly clothed in draperies and fig leaves. “The folly of Man covering what was created as naturally good.”

“Yes! But it is good that they never had the time nor temerity to touch the heavens,” Prouvaire remarked as they followed the other pilgrims out of one of the chapel’s egresses towards Saint Peter’s Basilica.

Although neither Enjolras nor Prouvaire was a stranger to the magnificence of old churches, the scale and intricacy of the nave of Saint Peter’s Basilica left them both speechless. From where they stood at the right of the basilica, they had an excellent view of the paintings and reliefs all along the arches and vaults of the ceiling, all the way to the dome with its windows that were designed to let down rays of light around the grand pavilion-like baldacchino above the altar. Below this mighty canopy fashioned in bronze-work resembling laurel leaves and bees, was a stairway lit by 95 bronze lamps, leading to the grottoes below the basilica.

“This is beautiful, but I would like to think that Heaven, should it exist, would have more greenery than this,” Prouvaire breathed. “This is more of a confusion between earthly royalty and that of the divine.”

“That pavilion is evidence of that. Is that also by Michelangelo?” Enjolras asked.

“Bernini.” Prouvaire glanced towards the entrance to the nave. “Somewhere there is a square on the floor where the Emperors following Charlemagne all knelt to receive the crown from the Pope’s hands.”

Enjolras pulled his watch out from his fob, only to see that they had only five minutes till three in the afternoon. ‘ _Where is everyone else?’_ he wondered as he looked around the basilica’s vast interior. He soon caught sight of Courfeyrac and Bossuet standing near a chapel to the left. Courfeyrac nodded to him after a moment and pointed to the basilica’s left transept. ‘ _A private prayer habit then,’_ he thought as he stepped out into the nave, only to conceal himself behind a statue of Saint Peter near the aisle.

From this vantage point he saw Theophile D’Aramitz kneeling at one of the pews in the transept, looking towards a high altar flanked by mosaics of the apostles. D’Aramitz had not lost the habit of wearing somber clothing, but the cut of his attire was more akin to a cleric’s robes as opposed to that of a gentleman diplomat. ‘ _Has he taken vows of some sort while he is here?’_ Enjolras wondered silently as he observed D’Aramitz bow his head and murmur something over and over again. The older man’s head was almost meeting the edge of the pew when suddenly the basilica’s bells tolled the hour, prompting him to stand up and suddenly leave the transept and walk out towards the nave and the doors leading to the portico.

‘ _So he isn’t going to attend the Liturgy of the Hours then!’_ Enjolras realized as he emerged from his hiding place, just as Courfeyrac, Bossuet, and Prouvaire all stepped out from their respective posts in the nave. He saw Joly and Musichetta also entering the basilica by one door, only to turn to see D’Aramitz exiting through another. “Follow him!” he mouthed to his friends even as he walked more quickly to try to catch up with the diplomat. He glanced over his shoulder to see some bishops and cardinals gathering in a transept, amid the rising song and chants of the Liturgy of the Hours. ‘ _Thankfully none of them are wearing white,’_ he thought even as he reached the portico and quickly crossed to the basilica’s steps.

From the steps he saw D’Aramitz swiftly walk to the north colonnade, and vanish into the entrance which he knew to be that leading into the courtyard. “That’s one matter confirmed,” Enjolras muttered as he rushed down towards the obelisk in the middle of Saint Peter’s Square. Here, he found Lamarre and Admiral Calamy already waiting. “Did you see anyone else come in earlier?” he asked them.

“A man came in around half-past two, and met him here; we were hiding near the colonnades at that time,” Lamarre said. “And you?”

Enjolras gestured to where D’Aramitz had disappeared. “That is a way into the Vatican Palace. It would appear he is lodging there.”

“We already knew that, so what else?” Admiral Calamy said.

“Aside from what would appear to be a habit of an early afternoon prayer, not much,” Courfeyrac supplied, now joining them. “Unless we wait for him to emerge?”

“We have time,” Enjolras said, motioning for them to follow him to the south colonnade. From this cool, shaded area they had a good view of the north colonnade, including the shadowed entrance into the Vatican Palace. ‘ _Hopefully there is no other exit from the Palace into the rest of Rome,’_ he thought as he glanced at his friends.

Courfeyrac glanced at his own watch. “Is it possible that this is all he will do for the day, and that he will not venture out after?” he asked. “If so, we can head back to our lodgings and plan what to do next, especially if we confirm that he was at the Pantheon earlier today.”

“It doesn’t help us make our next move on him, unless we mean to actually infiltrate the Palace,” Prouvaire pointed out.

“The next sensible thing would be to give Ambassador Philippon our findings,” Lamarre argued. “We cannot go in there without reinforcements.”

“Like any help that would be!” Musichetta scoffed.

Enjolras rubbed his temples even as his companions began to argue where to go next. “We must remain discreet at all times!” he said sternly, looking at each member of the group. “Nevertheless, Courfeyrac has a point. It is likely that he is done for the day, and will retire to his quarters to consider whatever it is he received for today.”

“Unless he has the services of a good chef, he may have to venture out for food,” Joly pointed out sagaciously. “We could wait till then.”

“That’s hours!” Musichetta groaned.

“Well we come back at Vespers which is at six, or Compline which is at seven,” Lamarre suggested. “We need a place to wait.”

“What if we miss him entirely?” Bossuet asked. “He could leave before then.”

“In whatever case, there is nothing for him after seven in the evening except to sleep here and connive within the palace. It is more likely he will go elsewhere, and we have just as much chance of finding him as long as we do not venture too far,” Courfeyrac pointed out.

“The Castel Sant’Angelo is not far from here, and there are cafes and places to wait in this vicinity as well,” Admiral Calamy said, crossing his arms. “We could pass the time there and return here, except for Enjolras who has an assignation elsewhere.”

‘ _Which is my original mission to begin with,’_ Enjolras reminded himself. “For all we know, Signor Agosta might provide some insight we need to pursue this matter. In the meantime, getting familiar with the rest of the area would not be amiss.”


	69. Repurposing and Aliases

**Chapter 69: Repurposing and Aliases**

“I s’pose that with this Pantheon becoming a church, no one can complain about wasting land or marble.”

It was all that Combeferre, Nicholine, LeClerc and Victoria could do to keep a straight face, more so when Grantaire, Riva, and Jacques burst into laughter. “Yes, but there is no economy to be had with that dome!” Grantaire exclaimed between wheezes. “Some would say that the aim was to give Rome another hill.”

“Another papal expense,” Eponine quipped as she got another look at the imposing façade of the Pantheon at the Piazza della Rotonda. ‘ _It’s far grander than our Pantheon in Paris, but it looks so much more confused,’_ she could not help but think as she took in the sight of the church’s round dome with twin bell towers over its classical facade.

Jacques also frowned as he surveyed the building. “Those bell towers look like asses’ ears.”

“Actually, that’s what some of the Romans call those new additions,” LeClerc said in a furtive whisper. “Well while it’s early, we can take a quick look inside before finding our places to wait for Citizen D’Aramitz or anyone else to show up.”

Eponine reached in her coat pockets for her watch, only to find that the time was just half past one in the afternoon. ‘ _Everyone else is probably still on their way to Saint Peter’s Square,’_ she told herself as she followed Combeferre, Grantaire, Nicholine and Jacques into the Pantheon. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Victoria talking heatedly with LeClerc. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked them.

Victoria shook her head. “It would not be right for me to step inside a Papist church.”

‘ _Yet it’s fine for Catholics to be in Westminster Abbey?’_ Eponine wondered. “It’s just for a few minutes, and we aren’t going to say any prayers,” she cajoled.

Victoria gave Eponine a disapproving look. “This church is the perfect example of idolatry. Honoring the examples of brave and venerable saints is one thing, but iconography is another.”

“Well just because something is pretty that doesn’t mean one has to kiss it,” Eponine retorted before going into the church. She doffed her bonnet and crossed herself even as she looked around the enormous round room marked with niches and paintings that her companions were now animatedly surveying. Eponine stepped under a single large beam of light shining through an oculus in the domed roof. “Doesn’t this let the rain in?” she wondered aloud.

“ _Signora_ , this is why we have a drain in the floor,” a churchwarden called. He was a portly man in the somber garb of a peasant, but with a pin that signified his office. “Is this your first time to visit our church?”

Eponine turned to look at this stranger, who had been in the middle of relighting the candles. “Yes. I didn’t think I’d ever see so many paintings of the Virgin Mary,” she replied in English.

The churchwarden stopped short on hearing her speak. “Are you from England, _Signora_?”

“Ireland,” Eponine answered quickly. ‘ _That is a mostly Catholic place, isn’t it?’_ she wondered silently even as she averted her eyes from the churchwarden’s scrutiny. “I don’t think you get many Irish pilgrims here,” she added.

“No we do not. What is your name, young lady?” the churchwarden asked.

“Roisin O’Malley,” Eponine replied, pulling together the first names she could remember from all her reading and translating. ‘ _Well they do call me a rose after all,’_ she thought, seeing the churchwarden raise an eyebrow. “It’s the hair, _Signor_.”

“I see. We seem to have a lot of foreign visitors today,” the churchwarden said, glancing to where Grantaire was loudly regaling Nicholine and Jacques with some anecdote about a painting of the Assumption, seemingly heedless of Combeferre and Riva’s attempts at corrections. “Have a blessed trip and enjoy your time in Rome, _Signora_ O’Malley.”

Eponine bit her lip even as she walked over to her friends. “I hope you didn’t say you were French, because I just had to pretend to be Irish back there,” she whispered.

“I did use my actual name since I am Venetian. But the man thinks I am some patrician,” Riva said, sounding troubled. He glanced at Jacques. “What were you pretending to be again?”

Jacques’ cheeks burned. “I said I was an American. But there are Irish in America?”

“Yes, but not many. The problem is that you don’t sound a bit American,” Combeferre said. “We should have come up with our cover stories beforehand. I had to pretend to be an English doctor,” he said to Eponine.

‘ _Victoria is going to be furious once she hears of this,’_ Eponine realized as she glanced over her shoulder to make sure that Victoria and LeClerc were not entering the church. “I s’pose we have to hope that the churchwarden won’t remember us, what with all the people coming around,” she said. Even as she said this, she saw Nicholine looking to the other side of the church. “What is it?”

“I don’t think it was a churchwarden we were speaking to!” Nicholine hissed in French.

Eponine turned to see the purported churchwarden speaking to a man in a traveling cloak and a broad hat. She saw the two men shake hands and clasp arms as if by some predetermined fashion before the traveler pressed a packet into the churchwarden’s palm. “The question is where that is going next,” she muttered.

“What if D’Aramitz shows up here?” Jacques asked.

“Follow him, and tell me or Antoine about it later,” Eponine replied. “We can meet at the apartment later after that dinner with _Signor_ Agosta,” she added over her shoulder as she turned on her heel to go after the churchwarden, who was quickly heading to the door. She took care to remain a few paces behind him until he was out on the piazza, and only then she put on a burst of speed to take her outside as well.

“Wait, where are you going?” Victoria called from where she was standing at the Pantheon’s portico. “Weren’t we supposed to—”

“If not him, then his messages would do!” Eponine said, quickly tying on her bonnet as she ducked into the crowd. She saw the churchwarden suddenly leap into a carriage waiting at the other side of the piazza and mutter orders to go to the Castel Sant’Angelo, at which the conveyance hurried off. “Now that’s done it, how are we to get there?’ she wondered, looking up and down the street for any sort of ride to beg.

By this time, her companions had caught up with her. “Did you hear where he was going?” LeClerc asked, sounding rather winded.

“Castel Sant’Angelo. It’s that big round tower there on the other side of the Tiber, isn’t it?” Eponine said, pointing in that general direction. “Is it possible to go there on foot?”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Victoria said before stepping into the street to hail a hackney coach. “Are we all planning to go there?” she asked in disbelief, looking at the rest of the group. 

“I don’t think that D’Aramitz is coming here today, and besides we need to avoid any unpleasant surprises such as his own reinforcements,” Combeferre said before signaling to another coach. “There is safety in numbers.”

‘ _That has not helped us very much this trip,’_ Eponine thought but she bit her lip to keep from voicing this out as she boarded the first coach with Victoria, LeClerc, and Riva. “You mentioned that this tower was used as a prison?” she asked Victoria as soon as they were underway.

“From time to time. If there is an inmate in residence now is anyone’s guess,” Victoria replied. “More likely that place was chosen for its proximity to the Vatican complex. Are you absolutely certain about that man we are chasing?”

Eponine shook her head. “He was awfully nosy. Either way he isn’t actually a churchwarden, I think,” she added, looking at Riva.

“The man thought I was some Venetian patrician,” Riva said. “Luckily I gave my actual name since I can’t have that mistake going back to _Signor_ Contarini or worse, the Mocenigos.”

“Why, were you mistaken for a particular patrician?” Eponine asked, remembering the secret that Contarini had asked her to keep. “You don’t look like any of those we’ve met so far.”

“I was called a Memmo,” Riva replied, evidently disconcerted. “That can’t be; the last of the Memmos was _Signora_ Mocenigo the elder’s father.”

“A former Venetian ambassador to the Papal States, so perhaps the name has made a mark,” LeClerc said dismissively. “Maybe a few generations removed, but a mark all the same.”

‘ _That still brings about more questions,’_ Eponine thought, seeing how this statement was seemingly lost on Riva’s ears. She peered out the carriage to try to get a better look at the coach they were pursuing, but was rewarded only with the chaos of the Roman streets. “If we’re running late, chances are he will be too,” she muttered.

“Not exactly!” Riva exclaimed all of a sudden, pointing out the window. “He’s already running across the bridge.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Eponine muttered as their own carriage came to a stop. She scrambled out of the vehicle and sprinted towards the wide bridge that led straight into the fortress of Castel Sant’Angelo. Even as she gathered up her skirts to allow her to run faster, she saw the churchwarden suddenly look back at her and then put on a burst of speed that allowed him to readily gain the entrance to the castle. ‘ _Please let there only be one way out!’_ she prayed even as she dashed up the ramp leading into the fortification.

Eponine’s jaw dropped as she found herself standing in a small courtyard surrounding a tower that seemed accessible in some parts by a helical ramp. “He could be anywhere, and this is as good as a biscuit!” she cursed even as she heard Combeferre, Grantaire and Riva join her, followed soon after by the rest of the group.

“We’ll search the courtyard while the rest of you go on up,” Nicholine said, nodding to Jacques. “I’m not doing that ramp in my dress!”

“Fair enough. Eyes open and sharp everyone!” Victoria said before racing up the ramp first.

Eponine sighed, feeling thankful that she had worn her sturdy boots instead of slippers that day. ‘ _Never mind what Signor Agosta might say to wearing work things to a fancy dinner,’_ she thought as she found a stairway leading to the fortress’ outer wall, even as she heard the men following Victoria into the central tower. Here she saw that the castle actually had four bastions, each large enough to serve as an armory. “Or perhaps some other purpose,” she decided as she crouched by a hole in the floor of one of these towers.

It took a moment for her eyes to get used to the gloom she saw in this aperture, but she soon could make out the sight of two men talking as they exchanged parcels by the dim light of a candle. ‘ _I need to get Jacques up here to translate all this Italian,’_ Eponine realized but a quick glance at the courtyard told her that her brother and Nicholine were too far for her to summon readily. She crouched once again to watch one of the men pick up a parcel and head down an exit, leaving his companion in front of a wall covered with tattered papers and maps. The remaining agent brought out what appeared to be a pencil to mark some spots on the map. After a long while he exited the room and appeared to be heading to another part of the ramparts through an internal tunnel. ‘ _Should I try to find a way in?’_ Eponine wondered as she now began to search the flooring for another way into the chamber. Seeing none, she backtracked to the stairway she had used, and found here a doorway leading to the room she had espied.

As she ran out into the courtyard, she saw Victoria stomping down the helical ramp she had rushed up earlier. “Nothing there?” she asked the Englishwoman.

“Only dusty, empty extravagant apartments,” Victoria said with disgust. “Clearly no one’s been up here all summer. Where have you been?”

“Casing a room,” Eponine said, subtly glancing to the bastion she had just left. “I’ve heard you speak Italian, but could you do Italian and ciphers in one breath?”

“I can try,” Victoria replied, following Eponine to the hidden chamber. The older woman’s brow furrowed as she tried to read the papers in the dim light. “Even in the light I cannot make sense of this. It’s Latin.”

“Who on earth writes in Latin these days?”

“I don’t think I want to know. You need to get someone who is better versed in the language than I am.”

“Grantaire it is then,” Eponine muttered as she stepped out of the room. By this time she could hear the bells of Saint Peter’s Basilica tolling the hour; it was already three in the afternoon. She quickly found Grantaire and Nicholine talking with Combeferre and Jacques in the courtyard. “Capital R, we need some help decoding something in that bastion,” she said to him in Occitan.

“Mysteries now by the Trojans in their new Ilium?” Grantaire quipped.

“I’m not sure you’d call them Trojans anymore by any stretch of the word,” Eponine pointed out as they and Victoria entered the room. “Hold the door open, we need light,” she instructed Combeferre and Nicholine, who were trailing behind. “What do you see?”

Grantaire waved his hand in front of his nose. “From having me run across a bridge of angels, you now put me in Tartarus!” He peered more closely at the maps. “These are drop off points and ports outside of these States.”

“This includes Genoa, Venice, and Sicily?” Victoria asked worriedly. 

Grantaire shook his head. “Not just that, but even Marseille and Toulon in France, Valencia and Barcelona in Madrid…the entire Mediterranean and some.” He pointed to a scrawl on one scrap hanging down from the wall. ‘ _It is false and absurd, or rather mad, that we must secure and guarantee to each one liberty of conscience,’_ he translated aloud.

“A view that would negate the powers and gifts of individual discernment,” Combeferre remarked. He glanced back towards the passage. “We had better discuss this outside. The air here cannot be healthy.”

‘ _And anyone can come back this way any day,’_ Eponine realized as they quickly left the room. When they stepped out into the courtyard, Jacques was talking with Riva and LeClerc. “Is there anything else useful in this place?” she asked.

“We could search the _loggias_ and chambers for additional clues. That bastion cannot be the only place they use,” Combeferre suggested.

“There are three other bastions. Maybe they have some press or other thing there,” Eponine suggested. “We have to look in those, find out if there’s anything more that is hidden here that Citizen D’Aramitz and his friends are using.”

“Did you ever find that messenger?” Riva asked.

“I saw him leave towards the direction of the Vatican,” Eponine said. “Maybe he’ll run into the others there.”

“That is likely, and we can corroborate when we next meet. We can meet back at the bridge in an hour,” Combeferre replied. “Don’t accost anyone!” he added before going with LeClerc back to the central tower.

‘ _It’s off to the next bastion for me,’_ Eponine decided as she walked to the bastion further down the rampart. Unlike the first one, which had a solid floor all throughout its second level, this turret was comprised of a tower overlooking a small paved yard. “What sorts of fights might they have had here?” she wondered as she walked this yard, looking for another door into the tower. She paused as she heard another step from the other side of the courtyard, only to see the tall shadow of a man there. “Who’s there?” she called in English.

“A Catalan traveler,” a familiar voice answered in Occitan. Enjolras stepped out of the shadows, his face a mixture of bemusement and worry. “What are you doing here?”

“Following a messenger drop,” Eponine replied in English. She met him halfway in the yard so she could press her lips to his ear. “I’m pretending to be an Irishwoman, so please help me along here,” she whispered.

Enjolras’ eyebrows shot up as he took in this fact. “How am I supposed to speak with you when your brother told a cleric back in the Sistine Chapel that I was a Spaniard?” he asked, reverting to French.

“I do hope you paid Prouvaire out for that nicely,” Eponine retorted in French before stepping back. “Did you find anyone?”

“Our friend? Yes. And his lodgings. At least we know some of his habits will not allow him to be accosted within the Vatican.”

“That is a shame. We figured out that some of his friends have something to do here.”

“I see,” Enjolras said in Spanish before motioning for her to follow him to a hollow in the wall. “It’s better we discuss this here, instead of trying to play charades outside,” he explained, shifting so that they could both fit in the narrow space.

“Because there’s no way a Catalan traveler can know English, or an Irishwoman can know Spanish?” Eponine asked. Their sheer proximity was enough to make her feel warm from head to toe, but she willed herself to ignore this in favor of clasping his hands. “Combeferre was right, we should have thought this through.”

“He is here?”

“All of us are. What about with you?”

“We all came straight from Saint Peter’s Square, but some us will probably go back to see if Citizen D’Aramitz will take his dinner elsewhere.”

“Why, do they not have cooks there?” Eponine asked. She started at the sound of footsteps from above the hollow. “We’re trapped!”

“Listen,” Enjolras mouthed, pointing overhead. “They aren’t speaking in Italian.”

‘ _Probably trying not to be overheard plotting either,’_ Eponine realized as she stood on tiptoe in an attempt to catch some of these sounds of conversation through any cracks between the stones. ‘ _And if they are speaking French, they probably are dealing with D’Aramitz or any cronies he has within Philippon’s embassy.’_

“Pilgrims are always good and welcome, but today’s seem to be of an unusual sort,” said a voice that Eponine recognized as that of the Pantheon’s churchwarden. “I never thought I would see an American and an Irishwoman all the way here in Rome.”

“You were a simpleton enough to fall for that?” another sharper voice retorted. This one had a much more pronounced Italian accent. “Today a Frenchman had enough cheek to tell me that he was a traveler from Catalonia.”

“Why, who was he?”

“I’ll wager my last cassock that he was none other than that libertine Enjolras. D’Aramitz said that he’s been in Rome these past few days.”

Eponine shut her eyes even as she felt Enjolras’ hand tighten around hers. ‘ _So much for that,’_ she thought before looking at her lover again. “He did have your itinerary and sent that note,” she whispered. “That isn’t surprising.”

“But troubling,” Enjolras answered, gesturing upwards again.

“Well what can one errant Frenchman do here in Rome anyway?” the churchwarden of the Pantheon said at length. “What pull does he have here?”

“He did not come here alone,” the other Italian argued. “You said you saw an Irishwoman? Was she tall with red hair?”

“Yes, what of her? She’s French too?”

“That’s his wife, a woman of no good repute. I cannot believe you were so daft!”

‘ _For sure he’s sounded out the others as well,’_ Eponine realized even as she heard the two men above them descending some nearby stairway. She shut her eyes again, hardly daring to breathe until she heard the footsteps grow more and more distant. “Now what are we to do about that?” she asked once she felt she could speak again.

“Finish our business with Citizen Agosta tonight, as well as give our findings to Philippon,” Enjolras said seriously. “He will have to act on them, at risk of being chastised the way Citizen Brisbois was.”

Eponine swallowed hard at this. ‘ _If any news of this reaches Paris, if we get back in one piece,’_ she thought as they made ready for their escape.


	70. Official Incompetence

**Chapter 70: Official Incompetence**

By the time that Enjolras and Eponine were able to escape to the Ponte Sant’Angelo, it was already half past three in the afternoon. ‘ _At the very least, everyone is here,’_ Enjolras realized as he caught sight of the large group of people huddled by a statue of an angel perched on a column. “Is everything well?” he hailed their friends by way of greeting.

“Ah, we are the cats who have gotten into the cream,” Grantaire said with a grin. “And that same cream, we will use to catch the viper.”

“What exactly do you mean---” Eponine began, only for her eyes to grow wide as she saw the papers that Grantaire, Combeferre, and Bossuet had in hand. “You really took something from that room?”

“An impression of it,” Combeferre said, handing over a page showing the faint imprints of a hurried scrawl. “With the help of a pencil and our pocketbooks, we acquired the mirror images of the indentations on the underside of some papers in that first bastion.”

‘ _Not exactly the primary evidence we need for a conviction, but enough to at least prompt further investigation,’_ Enjolras thought as he held up the impression to the afternoon sunlight to better read the marks. Even with his limited Italian he could deduce the gist of the document detailing the movements of agents into different parts of the Mediterranean. “How did you come across this technique?” he asked.

“Bahorel and Gavroche,” Courfeyrac replied with a smile. “It’s pretty clever.”

Enjolras nodded approvingly before perusing the plans once more. “The fact that this is present in a building in the middle of Rome means this is either sanctioned by some portion of the authorities, or this is hiding in plain sight,” he muttered.

“Either way this is cause for an investigation or even a diplomatic protest,” Lamarre pointed out. “We definitely need to bring this to Citizen Philippon.”

“Him? Really?” Admiral Calamy chimed in, his ruddy face even redder with disbelief. “I honestly thought that no one could beat your Ambassador Brisbois in terms of incompetence, but he is almost neck and neck for the top spot.”

“He will have to heed this one; this is a matter of security not just for France but even the rest of the Mediterranean,” LeClerc argued.

“It would appear that he is more concerned about his job security above all else,” Courfeyrac said, barely hiding his dismay.

‘ _He stands to lose both if he carries on as he is,’_ Enjolras thought as he quickly went over some more impressions that Jacques and Bossuet handed to him. A quick glance at his watch told him that it was just before four in the afternoon. “We have more than enough time for this,” he said as they began to walk the remainder of the way across the bridge.

“Wait, we are _all_ going to meet with Ambassador Philippon?” Riva asked slowly.

“There is strength in numbers, young man,” Admiral Calamy said.

“I know, but how are we all going to _fit_?”

“We’ll stand on each other’s shoulders if we have to,” Prouvaire quipped. “Giants are needed for the mammoth task of moving him.”

“But first the task of getting enough carriages to bring us all to the ambassador’s residence,” Bossuet said, looking up and down the street. “Unless we fancy a walk across Rome?”

‘ _Not with such urgency,’_ Enjolras realized, seeing now that there was no watercraft to help them cut the distance. He gritted his teeth on seeing only one public carriage approaching them. “That will seat four. You two should go,” he said to LeClerc and Lamarre.

“Yes, but you should come with us,” Lamarre said as he hailed the carriage. “He will not listen otherwise. Citizen Courfeyrac probably should join us too.”

“Most likely we will all descend on him soon enough; it will be too much of a shock if we come in full force,” Grantaire laughed. “May you fly unhindered by the four winds!”

“The question will be what waits for us when we dock,” Courfeyrac muttered as he, Enjolras and the two diplomats boarded the carriage. He sighed deeply as the carriage began to move. “Did you and Eponine find anything worthwhile in the Castel Sant’Angelo?”

“Only that we are being watched,” Enjolras said. ‘ _That priest in the Sistine Chapel was certainly more than a curious shepherd of his flock,’_ he thought as he peered out the carriage window at the increasingly busy Roman streets. The added traffic made the already arduous trip seem interminable, and it was almost five in the afternoon by the time they arrived at the French ambassador’s residence.

The four men were immediately shown upstairs to the ambassador’s study, where Philippon was working on some correspondence with a glass of wine at his elbow. The ambassador’s eyes narrowed at the newcomers. “This is rather unexpected, Citizens,” he greeted them coldly. “What brings you here?”

“Seeing if you are in good health, and then stirring you up as well with some leads,” Enjolras said. “Is your embassy aware that Citizen D’Aramitz has taken lodgings in the Vatican Palace?”

Philippon’s bushy eyebrows shot up for a moment before his eyes narrowed at Enjolras. “The particulars of French visitors’ accommodations are not the responsibility of this embassy.”

“Unless they are meant to be under surveillance, as deporting Citizen D’Aramitz would require,” LeClerc pointed out, crossing his arms.

‘ _Of course, Ambassador Philippon never sent anyone to investigate,’_ Enjolras thought even as he brought out the impressions that their group had collected, as well as his copy of Belmont’s deposition. “We also ventured into the Castel Sant’Angelo, where there were some suspicious documents and maps that match up perfectly with the information provided in Citizen Belmont’s deposition,” he said as he put all these papers on Philippon’s desk. “These should help you establish enough probable cause for Citizen D’Aramitz’s apprehension.”

The ambassador took a sip of wine before beginning to page through the deposition. “A copy of this should have been forwarded to the Home Office,” he said after a few minutes. “I will wait for their further action on this.”

“But in the meantime, we already have the directive to apprehend and deport Citizen D’Aramitz!” Lamarre gritted his teeth before speaking again. “There is no time to wait for an update all the way from France!”

“What do you want me to do, get the Roman law enforcement on this case?”

“Yes!” all four men retorted in unison.

“These are very serious accusations against a senior diplomat. Are you aware what repercussions this embassy will face if these are shown to be unfounded?” Philippon asked.

“As we are sure you are aware of the ramifications of not acting on this breach right away,” Enjolras said. “Open war may not result from this, but the undermining of France and its foreign relations, not to mention the other alliances of the Mediterranean states, is not to be taken very lightly either.”

“I asked for a consultant to help me settle matters between France and the Papal States, not to tell me how to run my office,” Philippon retorted even as another knock sounded on his study door. “And what further impertinence is this?”

“More concerned French citizens,” Combeferre said as he and Eponine entered the study. “It is good to see you are well, Citizen,” he greeted.

Eponine bit her lip as she looked at the men in the study. “I s’pose not much luck then?”

“If you mean to bargain and plead with me, Citizenness, I will have none of your hysterics,” Philippon said to her curtly.

Eponine burst out laughing. “I, hysterical, when you yourself almost fainted away at that fountain! I s’pose it would not look good either if the Home Office heard of that, or of how you did not do much about a death threat delivered to nationals you are supposed to look out for.”

“I have more pressing concerns than tending to a wayward adventuress,” Philippon sneered. He looked sternly at Enjolras. “Are you so unable to control your own wife?”

Enjolras looked Philippon in the eye for a long moment until the older man averted his gaze. “You would do well to remember that nowhere in the marriage vow is that word ever mentioned,” he said, stepping in front of Eponine before Philippon’s eyes could wander again to her chest.

“With all due respect, it was a lapse of our diplomatic corps not to investigate and manage this threat immediately,” LeClerc said to the ambassador. “In the past this embassy has provided succor and assistance to beleaguered French nationals. That is something that I believe should not change, especially in these circumstances.”

“When you are appointed to this office, then you can succor all of Europe,” Philippon snapped. He glared as the study door opened again, this time admitting Riva. “And who said you could be here?”

“I am on a diplomatic mission myself, from Venice,” the young man said, turning up his chin proudly as he doffed his hat. “ _Signor_ Philippon, I would like to lodge a complaint against your national, _Signor_ D’Aramitz.”

“On what grounds?”

“Sowing intrigues and partaking in at least one plot that would have harmed Italian nationals and others alike.”

Philippon chuckled. “Italian? You are a Venetian, boy, and how could you speak for anyone outside of your vaunted city? Unless you are one of Giuseppe Mazzini’s vaunted republicans?”

‘ _How does he know about that?’_ Enjolras wondered. “And if he is, does that detract from the substance of his complaint?” he enquired.

“I will not drag France into a futile adventure that will provoke our Austrian neighbors,” the ambassador snapped. “Though I suspect that the presence of all of you here in Rome has negated all of my efforts.”

“We’re not asking for you to support the _Risorgimento_ ; that’s an affair between us in these Italian states. But to simply do your duty to keep French interference from ruining life and limb, is that too much to ask?” Riva said hotly, clenching his fists.

“I will not have any more of this belligerence!” Philippon shouted as he got to his feet, nearly knocking over his glass of wine onto the documents. He glared at two newcomers now in the doorway. “Now what foolishness have you got to present to me?”

“Oh nothing,” Admiral Calamy said, nodding to Victoria as they now stepped up to join to the group. The officer cleared his throat as he smoothed down his coat. “But if your embassy is too occupied to properly investigate this, the British embassy can take the lead since at least one Englishman has been linked to this intrigue with D’Aramitz.”

Enjolras averted his eyes to keep from smiling at this bluff, but even so he could see Philippon’s face redden as he regarded the entire group. After a few moments, the ambassador stomped to a table to grab a sheet of paper and his pen, which he jammed into an inkwell, muttering all the while as he wrote.

Philippon grunted as he handed the note to LeClerc. “Take this to the police. They will handle the search, but have them bring Citizen D’Aramitz here. He is still a French national and not under their purview for final disposition,” he ordered. He glared at the rest of the group. “I will let you know if he has been caught. Good evening to all of you.”

LeClerc motioned for everyone to leave the study and shut the door behind them before he turned to them with a smile of relief. “The order is legitimate. We shall have him in no time.”

“Are they actually going to raid the Vatican Palace?” Courfeyrac asked in disbelief.

“Probably not; it might be easier to apprehend him elsewhere,” LeClerc said. “I will run this right away to the police, so will the rest of you go back to stake him out?”

Enjolras nodded to Eponine and Riva. “We have another assignation,” he said.

“Ah yes, the Sicilian,” Victoria muttered, shaking her head. “And what good can possibly come out of that?”

“A good deal,” Eponine replied. “He’s got more energy than that Philippon there, and I s’pose that counts for more than anything when we’re trying to keep this place from coming apart.”


	71. Men of Fortitude and Women of Fire

**Chapter 71: Men of Fortitude and Women of Fire**

It seemed to Eponine that the neighborhood known as Trastevere was locked in a different time from the rest of Rome. “The city as a whole is definitely in our century, but something in this area seems like out of a medieval tale,” she remarked as she, Enjolras, and Riva walked down a cobblestone street leading to the famed Piazza Santa Maria in Trastevere.

“It would appear that the same could be said for most things on this side of the Tiber,” Enjolras concurred as he looked around to get their bearings, and then checked his pocket watch. This evening he had switched out his all-black attire for the deep red tailcoat he often favored for formal occasions. “There is the church now at the end of the street; we are making good time at half-past seven.”

‘ _And I thought that Paris already had so many churches and parishes,’_ Eponine mused as she brushed some dust off the bodice of her red dress, smiling to herself when she saw a slight blush rise to Enjolras’ face when he met her eyes. She glanced at Riva, who seemed to be lost in thought under one of his hats. “Are you not feeling festive tonight?” she asked him.

Riva shrugged. “I know I should have our work on my mind, but I can’t help but think back on what that warden, or that man pretending to be one, said to me at the Pantheon.”

“What, that mistaking you for a patrician?”

The Venetian sighed deeply. “I’ve heard…rumors about my grandfather’s parentage in particular but no one was ever able to come up with any proofs that he was linked to any patrician family. How many Italian foundlings get so well placed with an Italian family so far away? The family has always said it was Providence but I’ve always thought a bit more of it lately.”

‘ _Definitely not a fop,’_ Eponine decided. “So why should a spy upset you now?”

“What if there is some truth to it?” Riva questioned. “What if my grandfather really was the son of a patrician, and I am no different from them after all?”

“I doubt that many of the Venetian statemen prior to Buonaparte’s takeover of this peninsula would have envisioned a Republic that went beyond the city-state’s borders,” Enjolras pointed out wryly. “Your life and actions in these times already put you and your contemporaries in a different mold.”

“And what about the blood that runs in my veins?” the younger man asked.

“He’ll understand what you mean someday, Antoine,” Eponine said to Enjolras in a whisper as she clasped his hand. She smiled more reassuringly at Riva. “Well if blood and family decided so much about a person, I’d be in a cell in Saint-Lazare in Paris, while Enjolras would simply have stayed in Aix after he was done with his studies. The second thing isn’t so bad, but I don’t think we’d be here now in Rome if that actually happened.”

Riva blanched. “You mean prison?”

Eponine only shrugged as they reached a piazza that was dominated by an old church and an ornate fountain. The sun had already set, leaving the square to be illuminated by flickering lamps as well as the brighter lights in nearby houses and cafes. “I don’t remember _Signor_ Agosta writing that he would meet us at any especial place in this piazza.”

“I did not, because I myself will be playing host at my family’s residence here in Rome,” Agosta greeted as he emerged from behind the piazza’s large fountain. This evening he was dressed in a simple blue shirt as well as a vest and brown breeches, with his felt hat adding a touch of dignity to this ensemble. “You three are rather early,” he added approvingly.

“Thank you in advance for your hospitality, _Signor_ ,” Enjolras said with a slight bow.

“Now it’s only the least I could do; it would be a blot on my honor as a Sicilian if I did not wine and dine you as one should do properly when visiting this land!” Agosta said enthusiastically as he led them down a narrow side street. “Rome is not quite Sicily; we have our Mount Etna on our island, while there is no volcano here near the Tiber to make these seven hills fertile.”

“Legend has it that the wines in the area of the Vatican were notoriously poor,” Riva sniggered. The young man fell silent as they neared a large old house surrounded by a small but lush yard, and enclosed by a low wall. “This is more like a villa than a townhouse.”

“If you want Rome in its true old style, Trastevere is the place to find it,” Agosta said proudly as he led them into the house.

Even before Eponine stepped across the threshold, she already caught a whiff of the heady aroma of oranges mingled with sugar and other herbs. This welcoming impression was only heightened as she looked around the front hall, which was furnished with weather-beaten but comfortable seats with brightly colored cushions. A simple crystal chandelier provided illumination to the spacious room. Eponine grinned as she breathed in the sweetness that seemed to permeate the very air of the house, more so when she saw a nostalgic smile play across Enjolras’ face as he also took in the sight of the room they were in. ‘ _It’s like being back in Provence, but with less garlic,’_ she realized.

Agosta doffed his hat and hung it on a hook near the door. “ _Zizi! Nonna!_ I’m back!” the Sicilian called.

“Ah you weren’t gone very long, Alessandro!” a straight-backed elderly woman greeted as she came from another room on the ground floor. Her silvery hair was piled in a high knot, and her long-sleeved attire was gaily embroidered with an intricate floral pattern from the shoulders of her dress’ bodice to the hem of her skirt. “Are these your guests?”

“ _Zizi_ , meet _Signor_ and _Signora_ Enjolras from France, as well as their companion _Signor_ Riva from Venice,” Agosta said in French. “And this is my _zizi_ , or you would say aunt, Cettina,” he added.

“You three must have made an impression on my nephew; not even the ambassadors are asked to dine here,” Cettina said in heavily accented French. She sighed deeply as she looked the trio over. “It’s a good thing his _nonna_ , meaning my mother, is cooking! You look like you haven’t had a hearty meal in days!”

‘ _How old must Signor Agosta’s grandmother be?’_ Eponine wondered incredulously; as far as she could surmise Agosta had to be at least fifty years old. She heard her own stomach growl at the mention of food, and it was all she could do to keep a straight face when Cettina looked her way. “Well we have been traveling; I don’t remember actually really sitting down to eat and enjoying it, not since Florence,” she admitted.

Cettina cringed at this, only to turn at the sound of a voice from the kitchen. “That’s my mother calling. I should introduce you, _Signora_.” She looped her arm through Eponine’s before nodding to the gentlemen. “Now you know better than to make a mess in the kitchen, so you three can go sit in the dining room and check on the wines if you like!”

Eponine looked at the older woman quizzically. “Men aren’t allowed in the kitchen in Sicily?”

“Oh we have our share of men who cook, but they unfortunately are not in the Agosta family,” Cettina laughed.

“That’s a little terrible to hear. Is it rude to ask where you learned French, _Signora?”_ Eponine inquired curiously.

“We had tutors, and of course one has to pick up more things than Italian when traveling to Rome often,” Cettina said as they went to the house’s large kitchen. She paused in the doorway and peered inside. “I’ll go in first. She doesn’t like surprises,” she said.

Eponine waited a moment before peeking in to see a spacious room with wide, low windows that looked out onto a small garden of herbs and flowering shrubs. The place was filled with cupboards and tabletops loaded with various ingredients and receptacles. A large stove with several pots added to the summer heat suffusing this place. In the middle of this all was Cettina talking to a very elderly woman seated at a worn table and busily cutting strips of dough into small, thick squares. This crone was also colorfully dressed, but with a plain brown apron protecting her clothing. Her countenance was kindly, despite the look of intense concentration on her face. ‘ _For all I know, she could be a hundred years old,’_ Eponine couldn’t help thinking when Cettina motioned for her to come forward.

“Mother, I’d like you to meet our guest _Signora_ Eponine Enjolras,” Cettina said to the older woman in Italian. “ _Signora,_ meet my mother Ignazia,” she continued in French.

“I’m happy to meet you, _Signora_ ,” Eponine said slowly in French, unsure whether to shake Ignazia’s hand given that the old woman still held a knife. “What is it you’re making?”

Ignazia smiled and said something in Italian even as she motioned for Eponine to take a seat. “This pasta shape is called _cavatelli,’_ Cettina translated as she picked up a square of dough and pressed it across a grooved board such that the dough curled upwards slightly. “I don’t suppose you have such things in France?”

Eponine shook her head. “We do everything with bread there.”

“So do we, but pasta is so much nicer,” Ignazia said, her thin voice even more heavily accented than that of her daughter. She set down the knife as she peered at Eponine through a pair of _pince-nez_ perched atop her nose. “You’re very young, _Signora_. How old are you?”

“I turned twenty-seven last spring,” Eponine replied, biting her lip before she could inadvertently ask Ignazia her own age. “Why do you ask, _Signora_?”

“Twenty-seven only? I thought you would be older like _Signora_ Combeferre that scientist,” Cettina said, looking up from the pasta she was rolling. “Do you know her?”

“She’s one of my closest friends. I wouldn’t say she’s old at all; just ten years my senior,” Eponine remarked. “I s’pose you’ve been reading her work?”

Cettina smiled conspiratorially. “Alessandro has friends in the universities. We read the journals from time to time.”

Ignazia clucked her tongue as she tossed more _cavatelli_ into a pile. “There you go Cettina, that is why you still live with me, eh?” She looked knowingly at Eponine. “When I was your age, I already had seven children of my own. How many do you have?”

“Only three.”

“That’s a shame, you look healthy enough. I should feed you more to put some more color in your cheeks.”

“Things are very different now in France; women there can do more in and out of their homes,” Cettina said to Ignazia. “For the time being many of the women of Sicily stay at their families’ farms, but I don’t think that is going to last forever,” she added as she scooped up the finished fresh pasta shells and tossed them into a large pot of boiling water.

‘ _If I ever met my grandmothers, would it be something like this?’_ Eponine wondered silently, biting her lip as she watched Ignazia rolling the last of the _cavatelli_. The crone’s flour-covered fingers did not miss a beat as they passed the dough over the grooved board, even as she kept up conversation with Cettina. ‘ _Pretty much like how Monique is when she is rolling candied citrons,’_ Eponine found herself thinking wistfully. In a sense, it was disconcerting that such an image could only evoke for her the recollection of her mother-in-law, for the simple fact that she could not remember a single instance of her own parents’ relatives ever making a visit or exchanging correspondence. ‘ _Maybe they had their own reasons for staying away,’_ she realized.

“Once the pasta is cooked, we can eat!” Ignazia pronounced as she began sweeping the last of the flour off the tabletop. “I know that my grandson asked you to come at around eight, but you must remember that in Rome the supper hour is variable,” she said more apologetically to Eponine. 

“I s’pose this is worth the wait,” Eponine said amiably. “Do you have any other family staying here in Rome?” she asked the older women.

Cettina shook her head. “We only went up here to accompany Alessandro. Someday, you should visit Sicily in the summer. When do you intend to visit again?” she asked.

“Someday, if those diplomats will still allow me to!” Eponine laughed. ‘ _And when I come back I will make sure to know a bit of Italian by then,’_ she decided as she watched the two older women open another large pot of hot pasta, this time in the shape of larger squares bulging with some sort of filling, and drain it. After a few more minutes Ignazia pronounced the _cavatelli_ already cooked, which was Cettina’s signal to drain this as well while her mother checked on another pot that had been simmering away at the back of the stove. When Ignazia opened this pot, the kitchen was filled once more with the fresh aromas of herbs and tomatoes. ‘ _Where was the sugar coming from though?’_ Eponine wondered as she helped carry the food into the dining room a few feet away.

In this room, Enjolras was watching as Agosta and Riva were debating over two unopened bottles of red wine. “From politics to this?” Eponine quipped as she set down the still piping hot _cavatelli_ on the table.

Enjolras nodded as he touched her arm briefly. “The wine trade is a matter of art as well as economics after all,” he pointed out, gesturing to Agosta deciding the argument by opening one of the wine bottles. “Did you ladies enjoy yourselves?”

“I understand completely now where _Signor_ Agosta gets his energy,” Eponine said as they took their seats. The meal began with an appetizer of grilled sardine rolls with a nutty filling, which Agosta would have over-indulged in if Cettina had not reminded him of the rest of the meal ahead. Following this, Ignazia proudly got to her feet to begin serving the fresh pasta.

“This here is a _ragu_ that you can eat with either of these pastas,” Ignazia said, gesturing to the dishes before them. “The larger ones are called _ravioli_ and the shells are _cavatelli_. The second is easier to eat with the meat.”

Riva’s eyes widened at the food before them. “I’ve never had anything like this.”

“Of course not,” Agosta said as he sipped his wine. “As I was saying earlier in the evening, it will be necessary to work together to ensure that the Italian peninsula is not governed by foreign powers be they Austrian or Spanish. I do not believe that this coalition should extend any further than anything military or become the basis of a form of government. Sicily and Naples can and should stand as separate kingdoms.”

“Yet with all due respect, how long can that last against any attempt of reconquering?’ Riva asked. “Especially if it is true that Spain has allied with England?”

“That, to my knowledge, is a rumor,” Enjolras replied. “Even without an alliance between those two countries, the danger from the Bourbons and the Papal States still remains. This is not the time to practice isolationism even in the name of nationalism.”

‘ _Or to pretend that the Risorgimento will not happen,’_ Eponine thought as she curiously got a square of ravioli. Instead of the savory filling she was expecting, she found herself with a mouthful of a sweetish cheese with a distinctly citrus flavor. “Oranges?” she asked Ignazia.

“Yes, they grow everywhere in Sicily,” Ignazia said proudly. “Is it so surprising?”

“For a main course, yes,” Eponine admitted. She had to admit that this flavor perfectly offset the heartiness of the _ragu_ it was served with, such that there was little need to wash anything down with the rich red wine. Nevertheless, she took a sip before regarding the men seated at the table. “From what I know, I do not think there is an English alliance with Spain underway, but England would still find the Mediterranean to be of interest to them, if only to keep the Austrians happy,” she said calmly.

“That is correct, and of course economic interests,” Agosta concurred. “The English having undisputed command of the seas also curbs some types of adventure, but that alone cannot stop an overthrow from within Italy.”

“Which is why a French alliance between England and Austria, or even with the Papal States is to be feared,” Riva muttered. “But I don’t think that is going to happen after these days.”

“Indeed. But now back to the question of why the kingdom of Sicily should throw in its lot alongside the rest of the duchies and kingdoms who would resist foreign rule. After the battles are over and done, what system would prevail over all? Would you suddenly force Sicily to adapt to the ways of Sardinia and Lombardy-Venetia, or would we be equals in governance?” Agosta asked. “It is impossible for the latter, as a leader has to come from somewhere in Italy.”

“That leader, or rather those who would engineer the new state of affairs, could have the different parts of Italy be somewhat autonomous,” Enjolras pointed out. “It is impossible of course to exercise the same systems all throughout Italy, seeing how diverse its people are. The same could be said for any country or nation so large. A proper Constitution would grant the same rights and duties to people: the rights to life, care, education, advancement, and liberty as well as the duties of citizens. This need not dictate matters of trade and commerce or impinge on the innate local economies and cultures.”

Agosta looked at him intently. “France is that way? You have a single legislature though.”

“For national decisions and laws, but the day to day running of each department is left largely to local authorities,” Enjolras explained. “This is one of the reasons that even to this day, much of the Midi remains relatively free of the harsh mechanical industries that are more common in the north, with the exception of course of the coastal occupations such as shipbuilding. The Midi is suited to some kinds of agriculture and the State will promote that, in the same way that it would encourage trade in the northern ports such as those in Brittany and Normandy, or the rise of factories and ateliers in the larger cities and towns. It would be foolish to dictate otherwise.”

“And national taxation and other systems would ensure the welfare and basic living of peoples, even those living in less lucrative areas,” Riva noted. He paused to chew on a mouthful of _ragu_. “At least that is what I read?”

“In theory. The practice is still being refined slowly,” Enjolras said, raising his water glass. “The developments that have transpired in France these past years might not be entirely applicable to the Italy you are both imagining. A more equitable state would be more possible in a Republic that is not beholden to either the Church or any old oligarchy no matter how efficient it was.”

“All of that talk is wonderful, gentlemen, but you always forget the women,” Cettina chimed in after wiping her mouth daintily. “I heard, _Signor_ Enjolras, that no woman was involved in writing the present Constitution in France?”

“Considering that this same Constitution was also ratified by women, who were then considered as citizennesses, this is one of its flaws,” Enjolras said, his cheeks reddening deeply.

“No woman was involved in the actual writing, but we did make our presence known and agitated for some of its provisions, and insisted on the power to ratify the charter,” Eponine chimed in. She reached under the table to squeeze Enjolras’ hand, feeling his fingers wrap around hers for a few moments. “And if that didn’t happen we wouldn’t have the right to vote for our representatives in the legislature, attend meetings, or form our women’s societies,” she added.

“All of that happened ten years ago?” Cettina asked incredulously. She glared at Agosta, who was trying to hide behind a glass of wine. “See, I told you the idea did work!”

“It isn’t one that will catch on overnight,” Agosta argued. “Besides how can you tear a woman away from her responsibilities at home and the hearth?”

Eponine sighed she shared a weary look with Enjolras even as the two Sicilians began to argue. “I s’pose it’s always the same question when some country has to change things around,” she remarked under her breath.

“It did take months to settle that question of women participating in the plebiscite,” Enjolras said before finishing the last of his food. “It may take years in other climes such as in Spain or here.”

“Unless people get impatient.”

“That has always been the factor that no one can calculate.”

Ignazia looked knowingly at them, her eyes now bright with mischief. “What I want to know is how you two came together,” she said croakily, pointing to Eponine and Enjolras.

“ _Nonna_ , really?” Agosta groaned. “I mean everyone knows that---”

“I want to hear it from them,” Ignazia insisted, leaning forward. “There is a wonderful story there waiting to be told.” 

‘ _How do we even begin?’_ Eponine wondered, more so when she saw Enjolras turn even redder than before. She took another sip from her glass of wine before speaking again. “I s’pose the simplest way to say it is that we met at a barricade and then became friends leading up to his campaigning for the Parisian legislature,” she said.

“Not to mention that we became neighbors for several months,” Enjolras added.

‘ _Which is the most proper way of putting it,’_ Eponine thought, hiding her smile behind her wine even as memories of mornings whispering over coffee and stolen moments on the tenement stairs now flashed before her mind’s eye. “His best friend the physician Combeferre was courting my best friend Citizenness Claudine Andreas, so that also counted for something too.”

“And what about you two? You did not ask her father for permission to be her suitor?” Ignazia asked in a scandalized tone. “I have never heard of such a thing!”

“Mother, things are done a little differently these days between young people, especially in France,” Cettina said patiently. “And it doesn’t make them less respectable—”

“No respectable girl in my day would be seen with a man, if her papa did not allow it,” Ignazia retorted. “We knew how to court properly then, with bringing gifts not just for her but even the rest of the family. Ah you should have seen my wedding, with all the village coming out to be there. And I am sure that no one there ever since has seen such a fine wedding purse or such fine lace on a gown like the one I had! It was an heirloom of course from my mother, who made it from things passed on from her mother. It’s only a shame that you did not get to wear it yourself.”

“I no longer wish for it,” Cettina muttered under her breath in French as she got to her feet. “I’ll clear these out and we have dessert and coffee shortly,” she said to the rest of the group as she picked up some of the pots to carry them to the kitchen.

Eponine got up wordlessly and reached for two of the remaining dishes, which she then hurried to bring to the adjacent kitchen. She arrived there to find Cettina putting the pots in a large basin, presumably to soak. “ _Signora_ , I’m sorry for that,” she said softly as she set down the dishes.

“Never mind my mother; she’s always been a little disappointed that I did not marry the man that she and my father wanted for me. I’ve always thought it would be better to remain alone and caring for them instead of miserable in a home not my own,” Cettina said, managing a rueful smile. “You’re lucky though to have married a man who adores you, and who you love as well. I am sure your parents are proud to have such a son-in-law.”

“My mother never got to meet him; she died when I was seventeen. As for my father I can only guess at his opinions,” Eponine replied.

Cettina nodded knowingly as she put another pot to soak. “Then we shall not speak of it. Now have any of you ever tasted _cannoli?”_

“Is that another pasta?”

“A pastry shaped like one, meaning a tube.”

Eponine shook her head. “Is that what we are to have?”

“Yes, as soon as we get the coffee ready,” the older woman said more brightly. “Is there a particular way you prefer it?”

Before Eponine could answer she heard what sounded like rustling from the garden beyond. “What is that?” she asked, looking out to the darkness.

Cettina’s eyebrows shot up as she also peered in that direction. “Might simply be a branch falling; that tree near the wall needs pruning. I will remind my nephew about it,” she said before turning at the sound of footsteps coming from the dining room. “We were just talking, Mother,” she greeted Ignazia.

“And you forgot to bring out the rest of the dishes,” Ignazia snapped, carrying in her arms the remainder of the serving dishes that had been used that evening. “You girls get the _cannoli_ out, I will make the coffee.”

Cettina only smiled as she pulled out a covered tray from where it had been resting under a white cloth. “I’m particularly proud of these,” she whispered to Eponine. “I’ll try to write down the recipe and send it to you, if you’d like?”

“I’d like that very much,” Eponine said, feeling a thrill at the prospect of another correspondent. When they returned to the dining room, Riva this time was in the middle of some anecdote that had Agosta guffawing uproariously while Enjolras merely muffled his chuckles as he rested his chin on his hands. Eponine did not hide her mischievous grin as she resumed her seat next to her lover. “You need not hide your laughter so; it always sounds so nice,” she whispered to him.

Enjolras’ smirk was conspiratorial and mirthful as he met her gaze. “The anecdote requires some retelling later,” he said in Occitan. He gestured to the tray. “What is that?”

“It _sounds_ like something nice,” Eponine said, only to have this impression confirmed when Cettina uncovered the tray with a flourish to reveal a pyramid of cigar-shaped pastries filled with white curds of soft cheese, chopped nuts, and bits of orange. ‘ _And that’s where the rest of the fruit went,’_ she realized.

“This is the perfect way to crown a meal, at least in these parts,” Agosta pronounced. “Should I find myself in France I would be in danger of getting fat with the delicacy and exquisiteness of the pastry-craft there.”

“Is it true that in France one does not have a cake at a wedding feast, but instead a tower of pastries to celebrate nuptials?” Cettina asked.

Eponine nodded. “If you’re referring to a _croquembouche,_ then it is one of our traditional ways to celebrate. Not everyone likes it though; when my sister got married she asked for a cake which we call the “Kings of Bordeaux” cake.”

Riva raised an eyebrow. “That is very royalist.”

“There’s no point in renaming something just so---” Eponine began before a sudden cry followed by the sound of a falling body came from the kitchen. “Is that-“

In an instant both Agosta and Cettina were out of their seats and racing to the kitchen. Eponine, Enjolras and Riva rushed after, only to be greeted by Ignazia’s loud harangue in a mix of Italian and French. Eponine’s jaw dropped at the sight of the elderly woman standing with her hands akimbo, one hand clutching a heavy pan. At her feet was the crumpled form of a man wearing black, cursing and moaning incoherently. ‘ _And only one person ever wears this shade at all times,’_ she thought.

“I did say that she didn’t like surprises!’ Cettina cried even as Agosta hastened to pacify Ignazia. “But who is this man?”

“The very person we’ve been chasing all day has finally come to us,” Enjolras said grimly. His face was pale with fury as he kicked aside a pistol and then looked the intruder in the eye. “Finally, you’ve decided to grace us with your presence, Citizen D’Aramitz.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoyed the meal? The dishes are mainly traditional Sicilian fare. The pasta recipe was taken from the "Pasta Grannies" on Youtube.


	72. Of Outrage and Reason

**Chapter 72: Of Outrage and Reason**

Even with everyone’s efforts, it was a good few minutes before D’Aramitz was secured in a bare room while Agosta sent a messenger out to the police outpost at Trastevere. In the meantime, Cettina and Ignazia retired to their respective rooms for prayers while Agosta waited with his three guests in the hallway. “It is taking the constables a long time. As always,” he grumbled as he looked at his old watch.

Enjolras glanced to the closed door that kept them from D’Aramitz. “In the meantime, it would be good to figure out how he got here, and who is helping him,” he said. He brushed out his coat and got to his feet. “Let me know if the police come.”

Eponine bit her lip as she reached for his hand. “Be careful. Didn’t he almost drop a bookcase on you in Venice?”

“There are no such furnishings in that room, just that one chair,” Agosta said reassuringly, looking from the couple to Riva, who was seated near the window. “It would be wise though to not shut the door entirely. How is that one diplomat so dangerous?”

‘ _He is certainly more than that,’_ Enjolras thought as he opened the door. In the gloom of this windowless chamber D’Aramitz sat unbound in a wooden chair, passing the beads of an amber rosary between the fingers of his right hand, while the left clutched the rosary’s silver crucifix. The man’s somber yet composed countenance gave Enjolras some pause. “You have much to answer for, Citizen,” he said as he left the door ajar.

D’Aramitz looked up with a cool smile. “My conscience is clear.”

“Clear enough to bear the weight of _Senyor_ Pasqual’s demise?” Enjolras asked. His eyes narrowed when he saw that D’Aramitz did not even flinch. “That was only one part of your plan.”

“You are not the only one who knows how to make grand schemes, Antoine Enjolras,” D’Aramitz sneered, saying the younger man’s name as if it was a curse.

“Most certainly. And whose grand design have you thrown your lot in with?” Enjolras asked, walking to stand at the far side of the small room. “Is it a single country or you now have more than one master?”

“The only master I have is our all-powerful God,” D’Aramitz said, pocketing his rosary beads. “The same God that you spurn, might I say?”

“My beliefs are immaterial in this matter.”

“They are, yours and your entire generation of reprobates and libertines. Were it not for that, all of Europe would still be in order.”

This single word had Enjolras raising an eyebrow. “Explain.”

D’Aramitz burst out laughing. “Let me remind you of your history, young man. When the Emperor was defeated and the French Empire collapsed, all of Europe was in disorder. If it were not for the clever work of great diplomats such as Metternich, all the nations would have been ruined. The balance of power would never have been restored.”

“A balance of power that was hinged on restoring old tyrannies and installing new ones over other territories,” Enjolras pointed out, putting his hands akimbo. “You are confounding the outdated concept of a divine right with an entirely manmade chain.”

“It is a chain only for those who espouse anarchy and disorder. As a diplomat I am duty-bound to maintain the peace.”

“A peace for who and by who? There is no true peace where there is one nation or people exercising tyranny over another.”

D’Aramitz looked Enjolras over from head to toe. “It is said in the Gospel of Matthew that ‘ _by their fruits you shall know them’._ The fruit of my life’s work will be order and stability. Might I ask what will yours be?”

“It would be foolish or even vain to consider anything as my life’s work; the advancement of humanity is the labor and journey of generations. What fruits of that, I know I shall not see but it is not for my life’s gratification that I do it,” Enjolras answered. He turned at the sound of knocking from the door. “What is it?”

“The messenger has just come back from the police outpost,” Riva said.

Enjolras nodded, only to see out of the corner of his eye how a knowing smile tugged at D’Aramitz’s lips. He stepped out of the room only to see Agosta cursing and pacing despite Riva’s attempts to placate him in Italian. “What is going on?” he asked Eponine.

“The police won’t come to take Citizen D’Aramitz into custody,” Eponine replied, wringing her hands. “I s’pose we’ll have to do it ourselves and bring him straightaway to the French embassy.”

“And so we shall,” Agosta said exasperatedly, stopping in his tracks. “We could do it now, but would you prefer to wait till morning light?”

“We cannot; that would give him cause to say he has been illegally detained,” Enjolras pointed out. “Either _Signor_ Riva or myself can head out to find a carriage.”

“I will have mine ordered immediately,” Agosta insisted. “In the meantime, please enjoy the coffee; I hope it has not gotten too cold for consumption.”

“No matter, we’ll drink it all anyway,” Eponine said with a grin before taking Enjolras’ arm to bring him back to the dining room. Instead of sitting down she simply poured coffee into two cups and handed one to him. “The other rooms have a better view of the garden.”

“A garden in the dark,” he reminded her. Nevertheless, he took the cup and walked with her to the hallway, which had a single window looking out onto the moonlit grounds. “Now that our business here in Rome would appear to be mostly concluded, I take that you are eager to be on the way home.”

She nodded. “First to Aix, then to Paris. You think your parents will let us stay a few days, just for us to make it up to them?”

“They will insist,” Enjolras said before taking a sip of his drink. Although the coffee was hardly warm, it was still flavorful enough to tantalize his senses. ‘ _Especially when looking at her,’_ he thought, silently admiring the way that the candlelight fell onto the curves of her body and brought out the rich color of her hair. He took a longer draught of his coffee as he returned her smile. “Before that, we can take tomorrow to see more of Rome.”

“And maybe other cities along the way,” Eponine concurred, finishing the last of her coffee just as Riva and Agosta entered the hallway. “Are we going now?”

“Yes, before your friend gets too restless,” Agosta said, gesturing with his thumb to the closed door. “My carriage fits just four people, so I will drive it from the outside with the help of one of my men. You three will have to keep that _Signor_ D’Aramitz in line. Might I suggest tying him up?”

Enjolras shook his head. ‘ _Giving him some measure of dignity might make him more tractable,’_ he thought as they made ready for the trip back across the Tiber. In a few minutes they were all aboard a closed carriage heading for the Ponte Sisto, which would take them to the area of the flower market and the roads leading from the Piazza Navona to the Spanish Steps. Throughout the ride, the only sound was Riva’s nervously humming a Venetian ballad; D’Aramitz seemed to be deep in thought while Eponine looked out the carriage window. As for Enjolras, he found himself replaying the events of the day, if only to make a straight narrative that he could possibly present to Philippon. ‘ _That is if he would listen,’_ he thought.

As they approached the Spanish Steps, he noticed there was a large crowd gathered on the street, as if there was some spectacle occurring on the stairway. As he poked his head out the window he caught snatches of what sounded like an oddly familiar song. ‘ _Or at least how a drinking song sounds when Courfeyrac is singing it,’_ he realized as the carriage came to a stop. “We’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” he informed his companions.

“Because of this sudden fete in the street…” Riva trailed off before peeking outside. “That looks like _Signor_ Grantaire leading a song out there!”

Enjolras quickly got out of the carriage only to be greeted by the sight of Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, Joly, Bossuet and Grantaire singing on the steps, their arms interlinked as they danced and made high kicks. ‘ _It really just had to be that song,’_ he thought, glancing back to Eponine, Riva, and D’Aramitz as they left the carriage.

“ _We emptied more than one bottle, we drank more than one glass_ ,” Bossuet sang uproariously, miming upending a bottle onto himself. He grinned as he put his hands akimbo. “ _Nobody is laughing when we have to pay our share_!”

Amid the laughter and applause, Musichetta and Nicholine began with the refrain. “ _It’s a drink, a drink, a drink! It’s a drink we need! Whoaaaaa!’_ By this time Jacques, Combeferre, Lamarre, LeClerc, and the two Calamys were also egging on the crowd with their loud voices and singing.

D’Aramitz sneered at this sight. “What, singing this in the middle of Rome, of all places?” He shook his head. “You all are a bunch of reprobates.”

‘ _Maybe they won’t even get to the later verses,’_ Enjolras prayed silently as they began making their way through the crowd. By this time Grantaire had pulled Jacques, Musichetta and Nicholine into their dance, and was trying to also bring Combeferre up onto the steps. ‘ _If he sees us, there is no telling what he will do,’_ he thought.

Grantaire grinned wickedly as he looked around. “ _Our shirts were so short, our hammers could be seen!’_ he sang, making a hand gesture below his navel. “ _My gosh, said the woman innkeeper, how black they are and nice!”_ he added, with Nicholine joining in.

Riva froze in his tracks. “Did he just—”

“Never mind that, keep going!” Eponine hissed. “ _It’s a drink, a drink, a drink! It’s a drink we need!”_ she sang, adding her voice to the throng.

Enjolras glanced back in time to see D’Aramitz look around and raise his hand as if to make a signal. A moment later a shot rang through the piazza, and a woman screamed as an elderly man collapsed to the ground. “Don’t let D’Aramitz get away!” he shouted even as more gunshots sounded out while some men rushed up to assail his friends on the steps. In the confusion he saw Agosta and Riva pushing their way to rescue the bleeding man, who was being propped up by two other passers-by. A struggle had ensued on the Spanish Steps, with Combeferre leading the charge against the thugs who had attempted to pull guns on Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, as well as some bystanders nearby.

Enjolras swiftly grabbed a walking stick that someone had abandoned on the ground, and fought his way to where Eponine had just caught a cane that Agosta had tossed to her, and was now using it to face off against D’Aramitz, who had a stick of his own. Eponine parried some of D’Aramitz’s blows, only to suddenly find herself having to fend off another thug rushing up to her with a billystick. Enjolras leapt forward and warded off D’Aramitz’s attempt to strike at Eponine’s head, then parried his next blows such that he was forced backwards into the crowd. Suddenly D’Aramitz pulled something out of his belt and lunged forward, prompting Enjolras to quickly spin his cane in a circle to strike a hard blow on D’Aramitz’s hand to make him drop his blade. As D’Aramitz howled with surprise, Enjolras took the opportunity to land a kick on his side to send him to the ground.

D’Aramitz hissed as he backed up onto his elbows. “Avenging someone now, boy?”

“Not this way,” Enjolras retorted, seizing the man to force him to his feet in order to make him see the confusion the plaza was in, even with the local constabulary now disarming the thugs on the steps, while Agosta and Riva were assisting the wounded. He nodded to Eponine, who had also downed her latest attacker, before shaking D’Aramitz slightly. “If this is your definition of order, I highly suggest you reconsider it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drinking song is known as "C'est La Boire Qu'il Nous Faut". It gets even worse beyond the part that they were able to sing!


	73. A Blade Known as Diplomacy

**Chapter 73: A Blade Known as Diplomacy**

The moment that Eponine saw that Enjolras had D’Aramitz properly in hand, her next concern was for her brother and the rest of their friends on the Spanish Steps. “Jacques! What happened?” she called, running to where the boy, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, Grantaire, Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta, Nicholine, as well as LeClerc, Lamarre and the Calamys were regrouping.

Jacques quickly looked up from where he was trying to fix his broken bootlace and then rushed to his sister. “I’m not sure, Ponine, we were just singing here and----” he trailed off on seeing what else was going on in the piazza. “Is that Citizen D’Aramitz?”

Eponine nodded. “I s’pose he has a lot of explaining to do,” she said before giving Jacques a once-over and then looking to the rest of the group. “No one is hurt?”

“Well I think we will have some headaches in the morning; that wine was quite something. Otherwise no damage done,” Combeferre said as he adjusted his spectacles. “How was the meeting with _Signor_ Agosta?”

“An excellent dinner but it was undone with what just happened here,” Eponine replied, looking to where Enjolras was now dragging D’Aramitz to them. “So up to the embassy now?”

Enjolras nodded. “To be more to the point, up to Citizen Philippon’s quarters. This is urgent business after all.”

D’Aramitz squirmed and made as if to spit at him. “You cannot do this to me. I am a diplomat of our diplomatic corps---”

“You _were_ a diplomat, but that privilege has been revoked,” Courfeyrac chimed in. “Of course, that has repercussions on your immunity.”

“In short you have a choice: to walk up these steps on your own, or have us carrying you bodily,” Enjolras said to D’Aramitz. “Save your dignity, Citizen.”

D’Aramitz scowled before putting one foot on the step and then another. “You will regret this, Citizen Enjolras. Do you think you are protecting the welfare of our French citizens with what you are doing now?”

Enjolras did not dignify this with a response as he ushered D’Aramitz up the stairs. Eponine swallowed hard before meeting the rest of their friends’ eyes. “At least you all seemed to have fun before coming here.”

“And didn’t you? I heard that Sicilians keep a good table,” Prouvaire said. “Their cuisine is said to be legendary.”

“I’ve heard that the finest of the fruits of Italy come from that land,” Nicholine chimed in.

“Ah but you forget that your dear sister is also a devotee of Dionysus,” Grantaire quipped, slinging one arm around Eponine’s shoulders and the other around Prouvaire’s. “We had an excellent selection of Tuscan wines, but what news from Sicily?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t find out what sort of wine it was,” Eponine said sheepishly. She smiled on seeing that the rest of the group seemed no worse for the wear, except for Bossuet who had sustained a few scratches. “Now let’s go up the steps and see what that Citizen Philippon’s got to say about what’s just happened here!”

“Probably he is cowering upstairs in his quarters,” Victoria said with distaste.

Admiral Calamy looked around. “Where is that young Riva?”

“Doing as he should,” Eponine replied, remembering seeing the young Venetian helping Agosta with the wounded. She dashed ahead of the group on the steps, and by the time she was at the top, she saw Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac almost at the door of Philippon’s residence, with a recalcitrant D’Aramitz in tow. She sighed as she stepped ahead of them to knock on the door. “Good evening! We’ve got a special delivery here!” she called to the porter.

“The Ambassador is not expecting a package,” the porter hollered.

“How could he not be expecting a package, he signed for it himself?” Eponine said, glancing over her shoulder to see the rest of the group joining them. “Citizen LeClerc, have you got the order you were to show to the police?” she asked.

LeClerc shook his head. “I left it with the superintendent.”

“Who is probably still wondering how to deliver,” Enjolras deadpanned as the door opened again. “Good to see you so soon, Citizen Philippon,” he greeted the disheveled man before them.

“What sort of commotion did you all cause in the street?” Philippon growled, tying the string of his dressing gown. “I was convinced you were bringing war upon here!”

“It wasn’t us who started it, it was someone else. We don’t have any guns on us,” Jacques argued, holding out his hands.

“Citizen D’Aramitz made a signal and someone fired a shot into the plaza,” Eponine argued.

“You have no proof of that,” D’Aramitz snapped. “Your eyes are tricking you.”

“I know how to see in the dark better than most of us here,” Eponine retorted. She gritted her teeth as she looked back at Philippon. “Well now we’ve got him before the police have. Shouldn’t you take charge of him?”

“Yes, and get me in safety away from this crew of miscreants!” D’Aramitz said, trying to wrest himself free of Enjolras’ iron grip on his collar. “Imagine, collaring a senior diplomat and coming up with these wild accusations!”

“There is something I want you to explain however,” Philippon said, ushering the entire group into his residence. The ambassador led the way into his study, where he motioned for everyone to find their seats while he rummaged through his desk. He brought out several papers which he spread out onto the desktop. “These just arrived from the Home Office. Citizen Belmont, the ambassador for Spain, sent a deposition concerning some events in Spain,” he said, looking to where Enjolras had just shoved D’Aramitz into a chair.

Enjolras crossed his arms. “The same deposition I showed to you earlier today.”

“Can you attest that this accusation is true---that an émigré engineered the death of a Spanish citizen?” Philippon asked, going pale.

“That man Pasqual was not meant to be there,” D’Aramitz cut in, looking icily from Enjolras to D’Aramitz. “It was sloppy work.”

“You do not deny it?” Enjolras asked.

“He had no business being in Madrid,” D’Aramitz said haughtily. “No more than you had any business meddling into Spanish affairs.”

“It is a serious charge,” Philippon said. He looked up at the sound of knocking from the door. “Come in,” he called wearily.

“Ambassador Philippon, we would like to lodge a complaint against your country’s national,” Agosta said somberly as he entered the room with Riva in tow. Both men were in their shirtsleeves and their garments were spattered with blood. The Sicilian glared at D’Aramitz, who only looked back at him with steely eyes. “This man instigated an act of violence in the piazza, that has resulted in the death of two civilians.”

“Two?” Enjolras asked.

Riva nodded. “That old woman who was first shot, and then another man standing too close,” he said. “We were able to find a doctor for the others.”

“Add that to a charge of breaking and entering my residence---and I can produce witnesses,” Agosta added with a flourish.

“That is a very unfounded charge—” D’Aramitz began.

“And out of everyone in this room, you have caused me the most trouble in this week!” Philippon snapped, slamming his hands on the table. “You will be billeted here at this embassy, and I will expedite the deportation proceedings so the investigation can proceed in France!”

“Do you think you can do that to me, Gregoire Philippon?” D’Aramitz said, getting to his feet.

“It is _Ambassador_ Philippon to you,” Philippon said thinly. He motioned to two manservants who had been waiting silently at the doorway. “Find this man a room for the night, and notify the police that we have him custody.”

D’Aramitz shook his head. “Is this how you treat old colleagues?”

“There is no collegiality in this situation anymore, Citizen,” Philippon said as the manservants dragged the errant former diplomat out. He held his head in his hands for a moment before looking up at the rest of the group still gathered in his office. “If any of you will file charges, I will await your affidavits tomorrow. These will form part of the deportation proceedings.”

‘ _He could have gotten them started earlier if he really wanted to,’_ Eponine could not help thinking. “And what about the rest of us?”

“I thank you for your assistance and wish you a good night. May the rest of your stay in Rome be peaceful,” Philippon said as he got to his feet and pulled his dressing gown more tightly around him as he skulked out of the study.

Musichetta whistled as the door shut. “We now get to enjoy Rome without any of this diplomatic trouble. Finally!”

“How exactly did you all end up on the Spanish Steps?” Enjolras asked.

“We were enjoying a sumptuous dinner at a _trattoria_ , and we decided to extend the festivities outdoors,” Joly said unabashedly. “If we had not been so rudely interrupted, we would have regaled the rest of the crowd with _Fanchon_ or other favorites.”

The mention of this familiar drinking song had Eponine laughing, more so when she saw the slight smile tugging at Enjolras’ lips. “Then tomorrow, what will we do?” she asked.

“What about we go see the Colosseum, the Roman Forum or other sites from antiquity?” Courfeyrac suggested. “Along the way a little shopping would be good especially since we sighted some bookstores too,” he added, clapping Combeferre’s shoulder.

“I s’pose that would be nice,” Eponine said as they all exited Philippon’s residence. “We can make an expedition of it!”

“You go; I think Citizen LeClerc and I have a lot of work cut out for us,” Lamarre said ruefully before nodding to Agosta. “Will you need some assistance, you and _Signor_ Riva both?”

“That would be appreciated,” Agosta said. “I would drink to this victory if I were you, friends, just to cap this eventful evening. I look forward to seeing more of you in the coming days,” he said before heading to his own carriage still waiting at the bottom of the steps.

“What time shall we commence our expedition tomorrow---or rather later?” Courfeyrac asked as he checked his watch.

“Eight in the morning should be sufficient time for everyone to rest, or sober up as may be,” Enjolras said. “Good night everyone.”

‘ _Clearly he has something on his mind,’_ Eponine thought, quickly bidding her brother and the rest of their group goodnight before hurrying to catch up with Enjolras. She quickly slipped her hand into his as they walked. “It has been quite a long day, hasn’t it?”

“It seems as if this morning with getting Citizen Belmont’s deposition was a week ago,” Enjolras mused aloud as he squeezed her fingers. “How did you know?”

‘ _I know when you’re feeling heavy,’_ she thought even as she stopped to stand in front of him. She pressed his callused fingers between her whole palm and her scarred one as she looked up at him. “I can make up a pot of coffee at our lodgings, and we can share it.”

He shook his head. “We’ve had a long day, and there is much to do tomorrow.” He brought her knuckles to his lips tenderly. “You did well today at the dinner with Citizen Agosta.”

“I think you were the main event, and Citizen Riva and I were afterthoughts,” she quipped.

“Bold to assume that it was not _you_ that his relatives were interested in most of all.”

“You s’pose so?”

This time Enjolras planted a kiss on her brow. “You underestimate yourself, Eponine,” he said sincerely as he looked in her eyes. “I personally believe that between the two of us, you were the more successful in this trip.”

“I couldn’t get the Queen and her Prince to listen much to me, but you…you got to talk with the Spanish regent Espartero, you helped Citizen Mazzini get that _Risorgimento_ going,” Eponine whispered as she draped her arms over his shoulders. “That is a great deal.”

Enjolras nodded even as he lowered his eyes for a moment. “If I had managed to stop that Citizen D’Aramitz earlier in Venice, then those two people in the piazza would have survived,” he said contritely. One of his hands went up to the back of Eponine’s head, and she closed her eyes as she felt his fingers pass over the now healed wound she had sustained there. “He would not have gone so far to cause havoc.”

“Antoine, it was Lord Griffiths who gave me this. It was his choice to come here to Italy, and the same choice was given to Lord Blakeney and everyone else who’s gotten mixed up in this, even those men he got to shoot at everyone in the piazza.” She opened her eyes as she traced the line of his jaw. “If you didn’t do _anything_ at all, who knows what could have happened?”

He took a deep breath. “It would have made this entire venture futile.”

“We’re here. We did what we had to do, and more. It was worth so much,” Eponine said fiercely before pressing her lips to his. He returned her kiss eagerly, bringing the hand that was at the back of her head down to caress her neck, even as his other arm went around her waist. She slipped her arms around his neck to give her a better hold when he pulled her flush against his body, such that she was almost standing on tiptoe as he continued to kiss her in that way that always left her weak in the knees. She could feel her heart racing when they pulled away to catch their breath and she got a view of his swollen lips and flushed cheeks. “Inside?”

“Gladly,” Enjolras said raggedly, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear as he set her down properly on her feet. He did not let go of her hand all throughout the short walk to their lodgings, not until they were upstairs and inside the apartment. “Did you still want that coffee?” he asked as he closed the door.

Eponine smiled before stopping to unlace her boots and kick them off. She straightened up slowly, reveling in the heat of his gaze roaming over her body. “You already know,” she said as she draped her arms around his shoulders and hopped up to wrap her legs around his waist.

Enjolras tightened his grip on her hips such that she moaned into his mouth. “Aren’t we eager,” he said with a smirk against her lips before carrying her to their room.


	74. The Quirinal Palace

**Chapter 74: The Quirinal Palace**

It was not often that Enjolras heard Eponine talk in her sleep or cry out in her dreams, but on the times that he did he made sure to hold her more tightly till she settled down. On this morning he woke to her whimpering as she curled more tightly into him, her own hands clutching one of his for dear life. ‘ _It’s one of those days,’_ he thought as he reached down to untangle her feet from their blanket before kissing her forehead. “Wake up, Eponine,” he whispered.

Eponine’s eyelids fluttered open before she exhaled shakily and buried her face in his bare shoulder. “Thank you for waking me up,” she murmured incoherently.

“Always,” Enjolras said, rubbing the back of her neck to soothe her. He’d long learned not to ask about the substance of her nightmares, not at least till she was more awake and ready to make sense of them. After a short while he felt her breathing grow more relaxed even as her grip on his hand loosened. He kissed the top of her head, reveling in the softness of her hair and the way her lips curved against his skin at this slightest of touches. “Did you sleep well?”

“A little,” Eponine replied, her drowsy tone now mingled with a mischief that he knew all too well. She raised her head and pushed back her hair to run her fingers over some telltale marks darkening on her neck. “You made sure of that.”

“If I recall, you were an eager participant too,” Enjolras pointed out, knowing all too well that he also had his share of love bites all over his neck and torso. To drive home the point he kissed her deeply, delighting in her gasp of pleasure as she began to run her hands through his hair. He pulled her even closer just to feel her soft curves against the hard planes of his own body as they continued to kiss, up until a knock sounded on the door.

Eponine frowned as she pulled away. “Can we ignore that, Antoine?”

“Maybe,” Enjolras said before another knock sounded. He rolled his eyes before clearing his throat. “Who’s there?”

“Oh you two are awake. Since I don’t think you two had your coffee last night, there’s some brewing now,” Combeferre deadpanned from the other side of the door.

“A few minutes then,” Enjolras replied, giving a sidelong glance at Eponine, whose cheeks were turning the same bright color as her hair. “At least it was him and not R or your brother,” he pointed out as they got out of bed.

“That wouldn’t matter; the walls are thin here,” Eponine pointed out as they began to rummage for clean clothes. After freshening up and dressing for the day, they stepped out to join what they knew would be a crowd.

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face on seeing all their friends in the room, even those who he knew had been billeted near the Piazza Navona. “I take that the early morning’s revelry ended right here?” he asked, seeing that Grantaire, Nicholine, Joly, Bossuet, LeClerc, and even Victoria were asleep at the dining table or sprawled out on the couch and the armchairs of the living room.

“Right as it should, with a hearty meal to settle the fumes of the night before,” Courfeyrac said, holding back a yawn as he raised his cup of coffee.

“More like to banish some of its sights. I am convinced that _Signor_ D’Aramitz meant that attack as a back up plan for his not having gotten to us at Trastevere earlier,” Riva groaned, looking up from the bread he had been slicing. “If _Signor_ Agosta or _Signor_ Philippon requests my presence, what am I to do?”

“Join us for our short shopping errand,” Prouvaire suggested, passing the pot of coffee to Enjolras, who then handed it to Eponine. “It would be a shame to return to Venice without bringing back some literature or remembrance of Rome.”

“And how much literature do you intend to acquire?” Enjolras deadpanned, picking up the full cup that Eponine discreetly handed to him. He took a single sip of the deep, bitter liquid even as a heavy knock sounded on the apartment door. “That is no one we know,” he remarked warily.

Riva crossed the room to open the door a crack, only to pale as he slammed it shut. “It’s the Papal Carabineri!” he whispered.

“The security force of these states,” Lamarre said, motioning for Riva to step aside. “They probably are inquiring about last night.”

Enjolras set down his cup just as five men in elaborate black and white livery, made more imposing by red-plumed bearskin headdresses, entered the room. “Good morning, _Signors_. Do you wish to join us for breakfast?” he greeted them in Italian.

The leader of this group, a stocky man with three stars pinned to his lapel, came forward with a bemused smile on his face. “Captain Ricario De Palma of the Papal Carabineri Corps,” he greeted cordially. “Are you _Signor_ Antoine D’Aubain Enjolras?”

“Yes, that is my name.”

“Very well. You and _Signora_ Eponine Thenardier Enjolras are being invited to the Quirinal Palace to answer a few questions.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as he looked the gendarmes over. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Eponine stiffen and avert her eyes. “Regarding what matters?” he asked.

“Some questions regarding last night,” the captain replied.

From across the table Admiral Calamy cleared his throat. “The Carabineri does not have the authority to take anyone into custody without a written warrant or directive, especially foreign nationals,” he said. “You need not go with them,” he added, directing this at Enjolras and Eponine.

“ _Signor_ this is not an arrest, only an inquiry,” De Palma said uneasily. “Their cooperation is necessary for an investigation to proceed.”

“If so, then why are we summoned to the Quirinal Palace, the Papal Residence itself?” Eponine questioned.

“Our base of operations is there,” De Palma said. “Please _Signora_ , it is an urgent matter that brings us here—a matter of state.”

“And we are to go immediately?”

De Palma nodded nervously. “Of course, _Signora,_ once you both are attired appropriately for this meeting.”

“A quarter of an hour then,” Enjolras said. He waited for De Palma and his men to step back before he looked around the breakfast table. “Courfeyrac, you are the only other lawyer here besides myself. We need you to accompany us.”

Courfeyrac nodded. “We definitely require Philippon’s intervention.”

Lamarre stood up to get his hat and coat. “I will drag him out of bed if I have to. Remember that since neither of you are residents nor subjects of these Papal States, you may not be detained in any prison in Rome. You will have to be turned over to our embassy,” he said before quitting the room amid the surprised looks of the gendarmes.

“We have overstayed our welcome in these parts,” Combeferre muttered. “We have to prepare to leave at any moment.”

“An escape is more like it,” Admiral Calamy said, looking to where Victoria was still dozing. “It would not be the first time.”

‘ _The most difficult part will be finding passage to a port,’_ Enjolras realized as he drained his cup of coffee. He quickly went to find a black coat and cravat to wear but did not bother switching out his red waistcoat for a more somber one. As he stepped out into the hallway he heard the chatter of Musichetta and Eponine arguing. “Is everything well?” he asked.

Musichetta put her hands akimbo upon hearing him. “I made sure to have this pretty black dress made for Eponine, not for an occasion like this but for something nicer. And now she can’t wear it without some shawl or coat!”

Eponine’s cheeks reddened as she swatted her friend’s arm. “I dare any of those priests to look under this veil,” she hissed as she covered her tresses with a black lace veil. “You’ll stay safe for us, please?” she asked her friend.

Musichetta nodded. “I’ve got your list, so if I find anything on it I’ll pick it up straightaway.”

“Thank you, Chetta,” Eponine said, adjusting her gloves. She smiled wanly at Enjolras as she held his arm. “Musichetta and the others will get the things that Azelma and the rest might like to have from here. I s’pose we will not have time to go shopping or sightseeing soon.”

“That might be so. What was all that fuss about your clothes?”

“If I had known we’d be meeting some priests or cardinals, and I’d have to wear this dress, I’d have asked you to watch where your lips were last night.”

“You enjoyed it,” he reminded her in Occitan as they now stepped out again into the living room. He nodded to Jacques, who was watching them with a stricken look on his face. “All will be well, _petit_ ,” he said.

Jacques swallowed hard on hearing his old nickname. “Isn’t there anything I can do to help you and Ponine?” he asked.

Enjolras took a deep breath even as Eponine stepped up to comfort her brother. “You have our notes and papers. Citizen LeClerc will need them,” he instructed as he clasped Jacques’ shoulder. “You know what to do.”

From the doorway De Palma coughed. “ _Signor_ , _Signora_ , we must go now.”

“Stay in sight,” Enjolras said to Eponine and Courfeyrac as they made their way to the door. He allowed himself a nod at Combeferre and Prouvaire, who were already beginning to rouse the rest of their group, before following the gendarmes down the stairs to the street.

Upon stepping outside Enjolras saw about a dozen men and women making a poor show of simply loitering by the door. ‘ _These gendarmes made too much of a stir,’_ he realized, noticing now the vehement looks that about half of this crowd cast in De Palma’s general direction. “How far is it to the Quirinal Palace?” he asked the police captain.

“Half an hour’s walk,” De Palma said gruffly, looking away from a man making an obscene hand gesture at him. “Will that be a problem?”

“Not at all,” Enjolras said cordially, glancing at Eponine and Courfeyrac. After some time he could hear more footsteps now behind them in addition to those of the gendarmes. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that more passers-by were stopping to see what was going on, or even following them while hissing and muttering curses at the police. A flutter of motion ahead of them caught his attention and he looked up to see a red banner waving from a window with the words ‘ _Viva l’Italia’_ emblazoned on it.

De Palma cursed and motioned upwards, earning him more jeers and shouts of outrage from the crowd now beginning to converge on them. “I will see them to the palace, you keep this rabble under control!” he ordered as he motioned for Enjolras and Eponine to follow him up a steep road. He stopped after a few paces and glared at Courfeyrac. “Your presence here is not necessary _Signor_. I advise you go back to your lodgings and stay out of danger.”

“It is wanted though,” Courfeyrac pointed out glibly. “And if this indeed is only a questioning, then there should not be much of a problem with my joining them.”

“Are you a lawyer as well?”

“Why, _Signor_ Enjolras and I sat the same exam in the same year.”

De Palma gritted his teeth as he led the way towards a long, sprawling building a short distance away from an obelisk surrounded by marble nudes and a fountain. Its façade featured graceful windows as well as a large balcony overlooking the piazza. “This is the Quirinal Palace; the official residence of His Holiness. You will not be having an audience with him, but with one of his cardinals,” he said to the trio.

“I highly doubt that he would have the time for us anyway, given how quickly all of this is happening,” Eponine quipped. “But why the interest?”

De Palma did not answer but only said something in Italian to the porter, who then showed them upstairs to a hall grandly decorated with paintings wall to wall. The multi-paneled ceiling was inlaid in gilt, adding to the room’s opulence. At the end of the hall were several large doors guarded by a pair of men also in livery. These men saluted to De Palma but frowned on seeing Courfeyrac. “The cardinal insists that this meeting be private,” one of them said.

Enjolras gritted his teeth as he looked from De Palma to Courfeyrac. “At the very least, may _Signor_ Courfeyrac wait here?” he asked.

De Palma nodded curtly. “Your friends will not come to any harm,” he reassured Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac smiled before clasping Enjolras’ shoulder as well as Eponine’s. “If it is a cardinal there, you might have to kiss his ring,” he reminded them. “Do as the Romans do.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras said, not quite able to hide his distaste at this even as he saw De Palma opening one of these doors. The police captain showed him and Eponine into a large receiving room that was well-appointed with deep seats upholstered in velvet. The late morning sunlight streaming through the large windows looking out on a courtyard added some brightness to the room, which by night would have been lit by an exquisite crystal chandelier and brass lamps.

A round-faced man wearing the black robes and red _zuchetto_ cap of a cardinal sat in one of the receiving room’s chairs. His face had a kindly expression but in his eyes was that slight hint of steeliness borne from years of exercising ecclesiastical authority. “Good morning. I am Cardinal Casoni, the governor of Rome and the vice-camerlengo of His Holiness,” he greeted, holding out his ring for the traditional kiss. “You must be _Signor_ and _Signora_ Enjolras.”

“Yes, those are our names” Enjolras said. For a moment he thought of simply shaking the cardinal’s hand, but the sight of Eponine’s terse look as she kissed the cardinal’s ring was enough to have him decide to give a merely perfunctory gesture in turn. As he straightened up, he looked Cardinal Carsoni in the eye. “You sent for us on an urgent matter?”

“A most serious one, my children,” Cardinal Carsoni said as he motioned for them to take their seats. “An upright man, your countryman, _Signor_ D’Aramitz is facing a very grave charge.”

“Which one in particular?” Eponine asked.

“That he is serving as an agent of the Papal States,” the prelate said. “What other charges is he facing?”

“He will be the subject of some complaints regarding an incident last night that resulted in the deaths of two civilians and the wounding of several others,” Enjolras replied, only to see Cardinal Carsoni’s eyes widen. “This, as well as some other controversies.”

The cardinal was quiet for a few moments as he regarded the pair. “I must assure you both that such activities are not sanctioned by the Holy See,” he said at length. “The use of needless violence is of course against the law of both God and Man.”

‘ _At least he knows better than to outright deny the existence of such activities,’_ Enjolras thought. “Under the laws of our land, and the country he once represented but still claims citizenry of, he must still be subject to the due process of an investigation,” he reminded the cardinal.

“Yes, the laws of France,” Cardinal Carsoni said, his eyes now hooded as he looked at Enjolras. “Tell me, _Signor_ , would he be judged fairly under those laws?”

“He would be judged just like any other man in his former office who has committed a serious infraction on foreign soil,” the younger man replied. He met Cardinal Carsoni’s gaze coolly. “What _Signor_ D’Aramitz has done is clear to all three of us seated here. What then is your real object for this discussion?”

The Cardinal nodded and tapped the arm of his chair. “His beliefs are clear to us as well; he has the conviction that the world is ordered by more powers than those of laws, states, nations and kings, and that God is the prime authority over all of these.”

“If you are referring to God, a deity, or a Supreme Being that puts order in the natural world, then that can be reasonably concluded, even by the most decided skeptic,” Enjolras said. For a moment he could taste saffron tea on his tongue again even as he recalled that morning in Madrid when he’d debated with Ortiz and Villanueva. “However once that God is codified into a religion and worship that seeks to become the basis or object of temporal law, that is where we disagree.”

Cardinal Carsoni’s eyes narrowed as he sat up straighter in his chair. “Until 1789, the laws of France were anchored on the noble and good principles of our Church. The divine right of its kings was respected, of course with the expectation that they would uphold justice and fairness in their reigns. Now, what are the laws of your country grounded on?”

‘ _No use explaining the entire Social Contract here and now,’_ Enjolras decided. “To put it succinctly: the liberty of each man ending where the liberty of another begins, equality of opportunity, aptitude, and conscience, and the fraternity of each man and woman regardless of state of life or circumstances.”

“Conscience!” Cardinal Carsoni exclaimed. “Would your laws judge your countryman then by his conscience if it is found to be clear?”

“How can he have a clear conscience after everything he has done or has been linked to?” Eponine chimed in, adjusting her veil before it could slip off her head. “People have died, Your Eminence, and how can that be a good thing?”

“The loss of life is very regrettable, but it will be up to him to confess that.”

“As it should be up to the authorities to give him a proper trial, if need be!”

Enjolras caught Eponine’s frustrated look before clearing his throat. “The law of the nation certainly cannot govern _Signor_ D’Aramitz’s conscience but will hold him accountable to any actions he does as a result of it that will endanger life, limb, property and principle. As to his conscience, it would be best to let him reason it out according to the tenets of the Church he professes to.”

“You speak as if you were not yourself baptized, _Signor_ Enjolras,” Cardinal Carsoni pointed out. “Baptized, confirmed, married in church, and your own children baptized too I hope?”

“The partaking of those Sacraments may steer one towards a faith; for my part that is still to be fully realized but I will leave that as a matter of my conscience separate from this matter of law,” Enjolras said more sternly.

Cardinal Carsoni crossed himself. “I should not have expected better from a government with its morals run to rot, libertines in power, and women out of their place,” he muttered, looking darkly at Eponine. “It is no wonder that with the collapse of home and hearth that your generation has been one of depravity.”

Eponine raised her chin. “And what do you mean by the collapse of home and hearth?”

“Why you yourself should know,” Cardinal Carsoni said sardonically. “This…folly of women in politics, of devoting themselves to pursuits not meant for them, can only become a poor example to the youth.”

“What pursuits then would Your Eminence deem as appropriate for women?”

“My child, the Scripture provides a good exemplar in Proverbs, on an ideal wife.”

Eponine looked quizzically at the cardinal. “Is that passage about a woman who spins and makes cloth for her household, who buys a field of her own, and somehow these are among the things that make her something to be praised?”

“It is good to see that your catechism has not failed you, or perhaps your mother’s teachings at her home.”

“My mother never taught me so.”

‘ _Eponine probably had to translate some rebuttal, or a bit of a King James Bible,’_ Enjolras realized even as he tried to recall the passage that the cardinal was referring to. He frowned as he heard what sounded like someone moving in the next room, only to conceal a smirk when he looked Eponine again and saw a telltale glint of mischief in her eyes. “I am unsure that such a robust picture of domesticity in a time before Christ was born _entirely_ applies to the present day and age, especially in these climates,” he remarked.

“You are missing the point, _Signor_ ,” Cardinal Carsoni said, waving a hand. “The ideal wife and mother devotes her energies to the material and spiritual welfare of her household. Her industriousness and talents are bent towards it, and these become the joy and security of her husband as he goes about the affairs of the world. What would it be if a wife usurped her spouse’s place by pridefully seeking renown where she should not?”

“I find it funny that you should read it so, Your Eminence, for a woman who plies a good trade is surely well known abroad, and her owning her own fields makes her more than just someone at home. And if she does it well and bravely, then of course she would be spoken of so well enough even without asking for it.” Eponine put her hands in her lap as she smiled at Cardinal Carsoni. “Besides, if the Proverbs can write about an ideal wife, where is the passage about an ideal husband for such an exceptional woman?”

Enjolras quickly looked down, if only to conceal the laughter he was desperately holding in. He glanced momentarily at Cardinal Carsoni, whose cheeks now turned an alarming shade of red. “Are there any more matters you wish to clarify, Your Eminence?” he asked calmly.

“None at all. It is clear that you two have chosen the path of open defiance,” Cardinal Carsoni fumed as he got to his feet. “I will not have such agents of unrest within my city. You and your companions are to depart from Rome within this day, on pain of arrest and incarceration if you are here after sundown. May God have mercy on your souls!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took liberties with the Cardinal here, but yes he did occupy those religious/political offices


	75. An Idea When Its Time Has Come

**Chapter 75: An Idea When Its Time Has Come**

Even before Cardinal Carsoni was done with his tirade, Eponine could already feel her feet itching to exit the receiving room. ‘ _We need to leave before someone absolutely bursts,’_ she thought, looking from the apoplectic cardinal to Enjolras, who was trying valiantly to keep all mirth from his face. In turn she made a slight bow by way of leave taking. “If God will have mercy on us, may He bless you as well!” she said to Cardinal Carsoni.

“Thank you as well for the time, your Eminence,” Enjolras added before taking her arm to walk with her to the receiving room door. As soon as they were outside in the hallway he took one look at her and barely held back a snort. “The things you say----” he began before failing to suppress a chuckle. “I was not expecting _that.”_

The sight of Enjolras laughing so openly was enough to have Eponine giggling. “Was there something wrong with it?” she asked, touching his arm.

“Not at all; you actually made a point that I do not think I’ve ever heard anyone argue before in a debate on Scripture.”

“Antoine, you don’t debate very often with stuffy old men in funny hats like that.”

“With good reason,” Enjolras said, smiling openly as he clasped her hand. He nodded to where Courfeyrac was smoking a cigar while chatting with some of the guards. “Everything well?”

Courfeyrac quickly snuffed out his cigar before hastening to them. “ _Signor_ De Palma has gone outside to deal with the crowd. It sounds like a riot is underway,” he said in an undertone.

‘ _Is this the war that Citizen Philippon was so scared of?’_ Eponine wondered silently. “We can’t wait for it to end. We have to leave Rome today,” she said.

“I suspected that would be so,” Courfeyrac said. He gestured to another door in the hallway. “From what I heard, the Pope is the only one here allowed to wear white vestments?”

“That was the tradition we were all taught in school, yes,” Enjolras said.

“Well it would appear that His Holiness entered the next receiving room. Did he join that meeting with the cardinal?” Courfeyrac asked, lapsing into his local _patois_.

Eponine shook her head. “He certainly heard it though,” she muttered while they began walking quickly down the hall. Now she could hear the increasingly loud shouts from outside; even though she did not know a word of Italian the tone and cadence of the uproar was enough to convey its substance to her. ‘ _And that banner earlier,’_ she recalled as they now left the building.

She swallowed hard at the sight before her; not far from the gate of the Quirinal Palace stood De Palma and his men, desperately trying to hold back an angry mob that seemed insistent on making its way to the Papal residence. A number of men were carrying pikes while others were carrying hastily made banners with various slogans. A shout came from the crowd which soon turned into an _en masse_ cheer as flags were waved and hats tossed in the air.

“Someone noticed we’re alive,” Enjolras said by way of translation as they approached the crowd. “Look to the flags.”

“ _Viva l’Italia,”_ Eponine whispered, recognizing the words. She paused as she saw Riva and Agosta pushing their way through the crowd, with Grantaire and Prouvaire following close behind. “What’s this rumpus?”

“Word got out quickly that you two were arrested. I am glad to see that is not so,” Agosta said before turning to raise his fist in the air as the crowd continued to cheer. “We’re safe today! _Viva l’Italia!”_

Prouvaire grinned with relief as he hugged Enjolras and then Eponine and Courfeyrac. “For a moment everyone was convinced that you’d be lost, yes even you Courfeyrac. So that’s why we came along; they usually are kinder to foreign correspondents.”

“A habit easily broken,” Grantaire said grimly as he showed the _canne_ he carried.

Riva broke away from where he’d been avidly conversing with Agosta and another older man. “ _Signors_ , _Signora_ , see what you’ve begun here!” he said ecstatically.

“It was not us,” Enjolras pointed out. “What you see has been long in coming.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is not the first time that the people of Italy have risen up.”

‘ _Maybe this time they will actually make something of it,’_ Eponine thought as she ducked her head to follow Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Grantaire and Prouvaire to the fringes of the crowd. “I s’pose with this, there is all the more reason we should go today.”

Grantaire burst out laughing. “What, you were thrown out of that false Olympus?”

“Exiled from the entire realm sounds more like it,” Courfeyrac explained. “We have till the end of the day to leave Rome.”

“The Calamys are helping arrange our passage out by sea; it would appear that we will be traveling with a retinue to help bring home our captives,” Grantaire said.

It was all that Eponine could do not to cringe at these arrangements which would require being in some proximity to D’Aramitz and Lord Blakeney. ‘ _Maybe we won’t have to speak much to them if we find a boat big enough,’_ she thought as they hurried back to the apartment near the Spanish Steps.

When they arrived the place was already in a state of frenzy; Combeferre was directing the packing and moving of luggage, Jacques was dividing up and accounting for some newly acquired books, pictures and other sundry, while LeClerc and Lamarre were debating over some papers. “It would appear that word has preceded us,” Enjolras remarked dryly on seeing the chaos.

“Merely a contingency,” Combeferre said. “Or has that suddenly become necessary?”

“We were ordered to leave Rome today,” Enjolras explained. “Is it true that we will have to bring D’Aramitz with us?” he asked LeClerc and Lamarre.

LeClerc nodded with a dismayed expression. “We will be given an escort for that.”

“We were able to find some things on your list, at least for Azelma, Gavroche, and the Pontmercys. There aren’t many toys for the little ones, so we didn’t get any,” Jacques said as he handed some packages to Eponine.

Eponine smiled on recognizing the weight of books in her hand. “Thank you Jacques. Now I hope to find enough room in my baggage for these,” she said before going to her room to pack. ‘ _And here comes the good of not bringing too many things,’_ she thought as she took off the black veil and dress, and folded these with her other clothes before changing back into the dress she had worn to breakfast. Just as she was almost done rearranging the contents of her valise she saw Enjolras also enter the tiny room. “So much for all that planning to see Rome,” she said ruefully as soon as he closed the door.

“We got a view from its highest hill,” Enjolras pointed out as he also opened his own valise to begin packing. “My apologies for disappointing you in this regard.”

“Well seeing Rome is what _everyone_ does, but what happened this morning is, I s’pose, what _we_ do,” she said. “I’m not sorry for it.”

“Really now?”

“You and Jacques came here to work with the diplomats and representatives, the rest of us are here to catch D’Aramitz and help you stay out of trouble. That’s what happened.”

Enjolras nodded as he continued folding a shirt to put in with his clean clothes. “In all our years together, most of our travels have been in the context of some mission or another. That one trip to Aix was an exception.” His eyes were earnest as he met her questioning look. “I do not wish to deprive you of the opportunity to see more of the world.”

“You haven’t seen much either yourself,” she said, reaching over to straighten out his cuffs. “If seeing the world means going with you on more ventures like these, then I will. Maybe to someplace with less intrigue, where we can bring the children along and my brothers all at once.”

“If we will be allowed out of France again after this.”

“Maybe not _all_ of us at once. What was the Home Office thinking?”

“Judging by how this has transpired, probably not very much,” Enjolras quipped as he placed his writing implements and his notes in with his clothes, and on seeing there was still room he put in a few of the packages that Jacques had acquired earlier. “We’ll sort these out when we stop in Aix.”

Eponine smiled and kissed him before finishing up her own packing and closing the valise with a loud ‘click’. When they brought their luggage into the living room they saw that Riva had already returned and was now animatedly talking with the rest of the group. ‘ _It looks like he’s going to be doing more than just reporting back to Contarini and the patricians now,’_ she realized, seeing his flushed and excited countenance.

“I was just telling _Signors_ LeClerc and Lamarre that I will be heading straight back to Venice, Riva said to her and Enjolras. “I will also leave tonight.”

“This haste is rather interesting, Citizen,” Enjolras pointed out, glancing momentarily to where Courfeyrac, Grantaire and Prouvaire were also now bringing out their own baggage. “What has changed?”

Riva gestured to the door. “Everything is afoot outside, and “Italy” is on the lips of so many Romans. After making my report in Venice, I will ask leave to go to Milan. _Signor_ Mazzini must know about this, in some way or another.”

“In person, since he cannot trust the mail anywhere,” Eponine muttered before looking at Riva again. “If you will be leaving alone, how will you keep safe?”

“I will see to that,” Agosta said as he entered the apartment. “My aunt will be taking my _nonna_ back to Sicily tonight but I will accompany _Signor_ Riva to Venice. And maybe to Piedmont and Milan if God is so willing.”

“I wish you both the best in this next step of your venture,” Enjolras said, clasping Agosta’s shoulder, then Riva’s in turn. “I believe that we will soon meet again, certainly in better times.”

‘ _Does that mean that Riva passed his test?’_ Eponine wondered even as she suddenly saw Joly, Musichetta, Nicholine, and Bossuet appear in the doorway, with the Calamys bringing up the rear. “I s’pose we are all meeting up here after all,” she said by way of greeting.

“Yes, to go to Civitiavecchia,” Victoria announced. “It’s a port northwest from the center of Rome, and if we leave now we should be there very late this evening. There, we will charter a boat in the morning to take us to Genoa, and that cruise will take us the better part of a day or two. From Genoa, it is only a few days back to France, or rather Marseille.”

“It is quicker than the land route, and more secure considering our fellow passengers,” Admiral Calamy supplied. “Traveling close to land will not bring us into rough waters, so this should be a safe and easy passage.”

‘ _Maybe I will need some of that laudanum that Antoine brought,’_ Eponine thought, already feeling her stomach twist at the prospect of sea travel. “It would be so much nicer if they had an actual railway here in Rome!” she said as they began to move their luggage out of their lodgings.

“That may happen, someday. You never know,” Combeferre pointed out.

“The Pontiff is said to be supremely resistant to the idea of rail travel especially in the Papal States,” Lamarre pointed out. “He considers them as avenues to perdition.”

“Well he won’t be Pope forever, and who knows what the next one will think!” Agosta declared. “I am sure that by the time you return here to Rome---and that is a certainty---that you will find locomotives and rails ready to transport you from Turin to Catanzaro in Naples!” 


	76. The Wine of Friendship

**Chapter 76: The Wine of Friendship**

_July 7, 1842_

_Marseille, France_

_Dear sister,_

_By the time you read this letter, I trust you will have welcomed your husband and the rest of our friends back to Paris. It would set your mind at ease that Jehan has more than fulfilled his promise to bring us back safely to France. The full account of what has transpired is best left for narration when we meet again._

_Eponine, Jacques, and I will be staying a few days in Aix with my parents. We plan to be back in Paris by the evening of the 17 th. I entreat you and Gavroche to please refrain from planning anything resembling a rambunctious welcome; it is likely that the children will be tired from traveling and will want to be home and settled at the soonest possible time. _

_Please send my regards to Maximillien and reassure him that he will see his cousins soon._

_Your brother,_

_Antoine_

As soon as this missive was dry, Enjolras folded it up but opted to leave it unsealed. He took this note as well as several other letters before walking up to the deck of the _Briseis_ , which was beginning to dock at one of the piers in the port of Marseille. ‘ _In all the times I’ve passed through here, I never thought I’d see the city from this view,’_ he thought as he took in the sight of the bustling harbor and the buildings rising towards the hill dominated by the old fort and the chapel of Notre-Dame de la Garde.

Towards the front of the ship he found Jean Prouvaire animatedly conversing with Courfeyrac and Grantaire, while Combeferre was showing Jacques, Joly and Bossuet something through a telescope. “How much longer till we can disembark?” he asked them by way of greeting.

“About half an hour, if the moorings are done right,” Combeferre said, breaking away from where he had been spotting seabirds swooping over the port. “Where have you been?”

“Finishing these,” Enjolras replied, bringing out the letters. “One each for Azelma and Gavroche, to be brought over by Prouvaire, one each for Bahorel and Feuilly to be given by Courfeyrac since he lives nearest, and one for the Pontmercys which I hope you can give at the soonest time, Bossuet.”

“For the first time, you have no official dispatches or any news to give?” Bossuet laughed.

“It’s more appropriate for the diplomats to take charge of that, lest we end up impeding the investigation of Citizen D’Aramitz and possibly that of Lord Blakeney as well,” Courfeyrac pointed out as he pocketed the missives for Bahorel and Feuilly. “For a while I thought we’d need the laudanum to deal with them, but luckily Combeferre tossed it over the side before we left Genoa.”

“It is in the same spirit that lawyers must exercise prudence when speaking about cases, be they under their purview or that of a colleague,” Enjolras added. ‘ _It would also be foolish to commit any such musings into written form, letter or not,’_ he thought as he looked to where LeClerc and Lamarre were talking with the guards assigned to help convey the detainees to Paris. He also caught sight of Eponine, Musichetta, Nicholine and Victoria strolling the starboard side of the deck and telling stories, while Admiral Calamy walked a few meters behind them. Enjolras nodded to the older man, who tipped his hat slightly to him before heading over.

“It is a shame to dock just when people were getting their sea legs,” Admiral Calamy remarked. “But once again this entire venture has proven to me that the land is more treacherous than the sea,” he added more pensively.

“The ways of people in society are, and the more complex it is the worse. There is something to be said for Rousseau’s thoughts on the simplest forms of civilization,” Enjolras concurred. He glanced at the Englishman. “What awaits you in England?”

“The nasty business of turning over Wil, I mean Lord Blakeney to the House of Lords. Since he is a peer of England he will be tried by peers. The same will go for Lord Griffiths as well,” the naval officer replied, his face twisting with disgust. “Out of all the people that Victoria and I have ever known, Wil was the last we ever expected to get caught up in espionage. I would not be surprised if he even had Dr. Maturin fooled.”

“What he and Lord Griffiths did was without honor.”

“Espionage has always been rather morally grey, which is one reason that Victoria has been so adamant about eventually leaving it. I fear that even if we have closed the book or at least our chapter of this work in the Mediterranean, that another long game is soon to be played.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at these cryptic words. “What do you foresee?”

“What your wife has done in England, and what you have done here on the Continent has certainly been noticed, and not just in Italy,” Admiral Calamy said. “Old alliances will be tested and new ones will be made.”

“Where do you believe England will stand?”

“She will always do what is needed to keep the peace, as England has for these past years.”

‘ _Yet even he wonders if England should still stand as the watchman of Europe,’_ Enjolras thought, seeing how Admiral Calamy sounded far-off and even unsure. “I wish you and your own all the peace and safety you need, regardless of the outcome of all of this,” he said at length.

“Thank you,” Admiral Calamy said, managing a smile before looking down briefly. “Ten years ago, when that mercenary Magnon offered his services, I only knew of you as a dangerous radical. I did not consider the fact that you have friends who would die with you and for you, that you have a family to protect. I would like to apologize for bringing that peril onto you and into France.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “Counterrevolution is also a morally grey venture.”

“It would be so. Now if you will excuse me,” Admiral Calamy said with a slight bow before going over to talk with Victoria, who was now looking out onto the port side of the boat.

Enjolras looked to where Eponine was now standing alone on the deck, seemingly looking up at the sky. ‘ _Or simply enjoying the sun,’_ he realized on seeing that her eyes were closed, and that she had let her long hair simply dance in the sea breeze. He looked at her for a few moments longer to commit this sight to memory before walking over to her and touching her shoulder. “What are you thinking of?” he asked.

“Nothing, just enjoying the day,” Eponine replied, opening her eyes and turning to smile at him. “We’ll have to go inside soon enough for lunch anyway; I don’t think they’re serving any on this boat. How soon do you want to leave for Aix?”

“We should wait for everyone to get on the train to Paris first,” Enjolras said, clasping her hand. “Of course it would mean either traveling all night by diligence to Aix, or spending the night here and then setting out in the morning.”

“I s’pose we can try the first, so we can actually see the children before they tire themselves out from the day,” Eponine concurred. She turned at the sound of hailing and shouting from the dock. “Looks like it’s time for us to finally step on land!”

“Indeed it is,” Enjolras said, seeing the gangways already being run up. He quickly went below decks to help move their belongings above decks, where the rest of the passengers’ luggage was already being passed down to the quay. In half an hour their entire group had successfully disembarked and was on their way to the center of town.

“Our detainees will be more comfortable at the police outpost; there they will stay till we have to catch the evening train,” LeClerc explained. “In the meantime we have these next few hours to ourselves. Perhaps Citizen Enjolras might have some suggestions?”

“None that come to mind,” Enjolras said, seeing Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Eponine looking at him worriedly. ‘ _Even if Marseille did not hold some grim memories, the place has changed so much since I was nineteen,’_ he thought.

“We _cannot_ leave Marseille without trying bouillabaisse in some form or another,” Lamarre insisted. “It is a signature dish in these parts.”

“Bouillabaisse and not bourride? That is also a seafood dish that cannot be passed up,” Grantaire declared, patting his stomach. “But if one prefers to scorn Neptune then there is always duck breast, soup with pistou, or even ratatouille!”

Enjolras smiled to himself at the mention of these familiar dishes. “Fish is more readily available here, so that will suffice,” he said.

Prouvaire looked up and down the street before gesturing to a large restaurant a short walk away. “What about that one?”

Joly surveyed the restaurant’s façade cautiously. “Looks reputable enough, meaning we will not have any upsets that will hinder our journey later,” he decided.

“How could you know that without the eating?” Musichetta asked. “That is part of the risk of eating bouillabaisse or anything from the ocean!”

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face as he heard his friends pick up their lively debate as they walked. The restaurant they entered was fairly large and extended onto a well-kept garden in the rear. The proprietor, a portly woman who was only too happy to have much custom, seated them at one of the long wooden tables set up along the length of the room.

“The gastronomic delights of Marseille need the appropriate spirits to wash them down with,” Grantaire said. He winked at their English companions. “Enough of the deep reds, it is time for the delicate whites to escort the fruit of the sea!”

“While there is enough time to sober up before journeying,” Enjolras said dryly as a server came to take their orders. After some discussion, the group agreed on bouillabaisse, artichokes with salt pork, and a selection of several pastries such as the anise-flavored _gibassier_ and the fritters known as _oreilletes._

“This will be the last time in a while we will eat so lavishly,” Victoria said as soon as the server had returned to the kitchen. “England has its delicacies but we have a paucity of spices and other flavors compared to Italy or even here in France.”

“There’s nothing wrong with borrowing a good recipe or two for English use,” Nicholine said. “Those aren’t state secrets!”

“My mother’s _cassoulet_ is,” Joly said. “She won’t give the recipe even to my sisters.”

“Same with my mother’s recipe for a rump of veal,” Nicholine conceded, resting her chin on her hands. “I don’t think anything in Anjou can match it.”

“Every woman has her culinary secrets, except perhaps my mother. She could never cook a thing,” Victoria remarked. “What about you, Eponine?”

“I s’pose my mother did not have any real secrets to speak of either; she cooked what she felt was necessary to feed all the inn’s patrons,” Eponine said ruefully. “If she did, she didn’t get to pass them to me and Azelma since we hardly had anything worth cooking for a long time.”

Even as the rest of the group began to discuss various homegrown recipes and contest their merits, Enjolras looked out towards the harbor and the deep sea beyond. ‘ _It won’t be long until we get our own visitors in turn,’_ he thought, mulling over his conversation with Admiral Calamy as well as Agosta’s parting words in Rome. A sudden cheer cut through his reverie and he looked to see the servers setting two tureens of bouillabaisse as well as a platter of artichokes onto the long table.

After he and Combeferre had served out the soup all around the table, Enjolras sat down to partake of his own portion, which consisted of a thick slice of bread topped with the aromatic soup and pieces of fish, topped with a reddish sauce. The bouillabaisse was full and rich on his tongue, banishing any and all weariness from their travels. As he set down his spoon he caught sight of Bossuet and Grantaire opening up bottles of wine. He shook his head as Eponine passed a glass to him. “It’s too early in the day for that,” he said to her.

“Oh but we have to make a toast of some sort,” she chided. “At least while we are all still here in the same place!”

Enjolras simply took the glass but set it down even as he saw Prouvaire get to his feet. The poet cleared his throat before raising his own drink. “On a summer day ten years ago, some of us wished that if, when we would survive our revolution, that we would visit the Midi and let everyone know how wild dreams and hopes could come true. This wish was not to be, for the four winds have blown us far and wide, and together again as friends and comrades in a strange clime---” he began before being interrupted by a sudden belch that had everyone laughing even as Prouvaire sat down once more, turning completely red.

“In a strange clime, but one with promise and hope---not for ourselves, but for the new friends we have met and the nations they hail from,” Enjolras continued. He picked up his own glass and held it up, looking at each and every one of his kin and friends now gathered there. “To the wills of all peoples, and to the health of progress. May what has happened these weeks be the first page of the next century of happiness for our fellowmen.”


	77. Familiar Airs

**Chapter 77: Familiar Airs**

After seeing off their friends for the evening train back to Paris, the next order of business for Enjolras, Eponine, and Jacques was to catch the night diligence for Aix. ‘ _Then again there are worse things than spending the night being jostled in a carriage,’_ she thought the next morning as she stretched in an attempt to stave off the cricks and cramps from hours of travel. She glanced to where Enjolras was seemingly asleep next to her, and then to where Jacques was snoring in the rear-facing seat. ‘ _If I didn’t know better I’d think I dreamed the past few weeks so far away,’_ she thought as she looked out the window at the fields of wildflowers that she had come to associate with Provence in the summer.

After a few moments she heard Enjolras stir and shift slightly in his seat. She reached over to tousle his hair, making him smile slightly as he opened his eyes. “Dreaming again?” she asked.

Enjolras shook his head before rubbing the sleep from his eyes and then sitting up straight. “How long have you been awake?” he asked before kissing her forehead.

“Not very long,” Eponine said. “I forgot to wind my watch, so could you tell me what time it is now?”

Enjolras brought his watch out of his fob. “Nearly ten in the morning. We should be in Aix soon,” he said, reaching over to help Eponine wind up her own timepiece.

“Already? How are we going to get to your parents’ home once we arrive in town?”

“Since we do not have much luggage, we can try to rent a carriage to take us there. It would take too much time to send for one from the house.”

Eponine nodded slowly, trying to picture the logistics of this. “I s’pose walking wouldn’t be so bad if we really had to do it,” she quipped. “The countryside is nice at this time of the year.”

“And a good hour’s walk from here,” Enjolras pointed out as the carriage now rolled up the main thoroughfare of Aix, the Cours Mirabeau. He nodded to Jacques, who was now just waking up. “If there is something you need in town, we have a chance of finding it now,” he informed the boy.

Jacques groaned and stretched in his seat. “What I want is _calissons_. I forgot to ask Aunt Monique if she could have some ready for us when we returned to Aix.”

“Then to the confectioners it is then,” Enjolras said. “There is one near the brasserie on this same road.”

Eponine smiled at the memory of an afternoon from several years ago when she and Enjolras, along with some of the latter’s cousins, had spent trying out some new pastries and confectioneries at the stores of the Cours Mirabeau. She quickly combed out her hair and tied it back with a ribbon in her pocket, and then smoothed out her dress just as the diligence rolled to a stop. She grinned as she stepped out of the carriage and breathed in the fresh air that carried a hint of the scent of lavender, and also brought with it the almost lyrical sounds of Provencal Occitan. ‘ _Not quite home, but still very nice,’_ she thought as she helped Enjolras and Jacques unload their baggage before they walked to a confectioner’s shop on the same street.

Even before they stepped inside the store, Eponine caught the sweet aromas of fresh nougat and candied sweets. The place was more crowded than she remembered it being on her last visit some years ago, with locals and visitors to Aix lining up at the counter or perusing the different selections on the wooden shelves. As Eponine walked by a shelf of glistening boiled sweets, she caught sight of a gangly, slightly tanned little girl dashing by with a basket overflowing with various wrapped candies and pastries. It was all that Eponine could do to keep a straight face as she turned to look at this child stopping to get a handful of sweets. “Laure!” she called.

Laure nearly dropped her basket as she sprang into her mother’s arms. “Maman! You’re back!” she chirped. “Are Papa and Uncle Jacques back too?”

“Yes, right here with me,” Eponine said, hugging Laure warmly before glancing to where Enjolras and Jacques were also walking up to them. On closer inspection she saw that the hems of Laure’s blue dress had been let down at least once, and that her unruly golden curls now reached several inches below her shoulders. ‘ _Julien and Etienne, and maybe even Neville would have grown taller too,’_ she realized as she watched Laure greet Enjolras and then Jacques in turn by hugging them both.

“Are you also here in town to buy books with those sweets, _petite?”_ Enjolras asked, looking Laure over proudly as he adjusted her hat, which was askew. “Who brought you here?”

“Grandmother did, she’s getting a new hat and she said it would be sensible if I went with her to get my books and candies for the boys,” Laure replied, stopping to wave at someone in the aisle. “Grandmother! Maman, Papa and Uncle Jacques are back!”

Eponine turned just in time to catch sight of her mother-in-law Monique standing a few feet away, her eyes widening with shock before she ran forward to pull the newcomers into a clumsy yet tight embrace. “We were planning to surprise you at home, Monique!” she joked.

Monique rolled her eyes knowingly as she took a step back. “Oh you! You’re just as bad as Antoine with that!” She smiled approvingly at the trio. “Travelling suits you all, but I’m glad you made it here to Aix early. How long will you be staying with us?”

“Till the sixteenth, if we are to be in Paris on the seventeenth,” Enjolras replied. “We need to be back to help Neville prepare for his enrollment at the Sorbonne.”

“Oh of course, he’s been so excited about that,” Monique said. “Have you given thought about your own plans after the _bac_ exam, Jacques?” she asked the boy.

Jacques shrugged. “It’s quite some time off, Aunt Monique. Two years.”

“It’ll pass sooner than you think,” Monique pointed out. “And it’s good we met here; Laure and I have the carriage so you three can ride back with us!”

‘ _Thank goodness for that,’_ Eponine thought with relief as she helped Laure pick out some more sweets before going to the counter while Jacques continued his search for the _calissons_. “I heard you’ve had a wonderful time while here in Aix, my darling. Could you tell me more about it?” she asked her daughter.

“It’s wonderful when I can go for a ride or play in the orchard, or when people are being nice,” Laure said. “Don’t tell Grandmother, but I don’t like some of the other ladies so much here. Their little girls are starting to tell horrible stories about other people,” she added in a stage whisper.

Eponine sighed as she squeezed the child’s shoulders. “Do you mean gossiping?”

“Is that what grown-up ladies call it? I heard it’s a sin.”

“I’m not sure about what the priests would say, but it’s wrong all the same. You don’t have to listen to them, my dear.”

Laure frowned. “Can I just cover my ears when they start? Grandmother says it isn’t polite to do that.”

“Well she is right; you can’t just do that in front of them. You could just tell them you don’t want to talk about it, or you could excuse yourself politely and go do something else,” Eponine said. “It depends on what’s happening of course,” she amended, seeing the girl’s quizzical expression.

Laure nodded slowly, clearly trying to take this all in. “Could you show me how you do it, Maman?” she asked.

“I’m…not very good at it all the time, Laure. But we’ll see what we can do,” Eponine said as they reached the head of the line. After they had paid for the basket of sweets, and Jacques had also bought a dozen _calisson_ sweets, Monique ordered the carriage to bring them back to the estate.

When they arrived at the main house, Monique quickly summoned one of her maidservants. “Please make sure to have three more places set at table and also have my son’s old room and another guest room made up,” she requested politely. She put her hands akimbo before looking to the stairwell. “Louis! Come and see who’s finally arrived!”

“I’m not sure that Father can hear you all the way from the study, if that is where he is,” Enjolras said dryly.

‘ _Then again, Monique’s voice always carries well,’_ Eponine thought even as she heard more footsteps suddenly pattering towards the front hall. “Julien! Etienne!” she called as two small boys traipsed into the hall.

Julien’s eyes went wide and he dropped the book he was carrying before running up to Eponine and flinging his arms around her waist. “Maman! Is it really you?”

“Yes it is, my boy, and look how you’ve grown!” Eponine marveled, hugging the boy back. Just as Monique had said in her letter, Julien had put on some weight, and had also grown a few inches taller. She bent to scoop up Etienne, who was reaching to be picked up. She took a moment to adjust her grip, finding him heavier than she remembered, before she kissed the little boy’s forehead “And of course I didn’t forget you, my little Tienne!”

Etienne sucked his thumb as he looked at her. “Maman stay? Papa?”

“Yes, we’re staying and we’re bringing you, your brother, your sister and your uncles back with us to Paris,” Enjolras said, glancing up from where he was greeting Julien. He took Etienne from Eponine’s arms, only to have the boy cling to him. “Now where is Neville?”

“Right here!” Neville said, entering the room with a book in tow. He stuck his tongue out at Jacques. “After all this time away, you’re still growing like a weed.”

“I have more time to do it than you do,” Jacques said with a mock pout before pounding his brother’s fists. “It’s good to see you again. Now when do we get Gavroche and Azelma?”

Neville shook his head. “They both can’t leave Paris. But I should show you the library here, it’s gotten better since the last time---”

“Not so fast, let me have a look at you all!” Louis greeted as he came down the stairs, holding out his arms. “Finally I see you all safe and sound,” he added before pulling first his son, then Eponine, and then Jacques into a hug.

“Now that everyone’s been properly greeted and welcomed, it’s time to wash up and prepare for lunch,” Monique said, heading to the kitchen. “We will have chicken and fish with _aioli_ , but it will be ratatouille for dinner tonight!” she called over her shoulder.

‘ _Of course since it’s Antoine’s favorite,’_ Eponine thought, glancing at her husband, who was still talking with the children and Neville. She nodded to her father-in-law. “You can burn that letter that Neville brought with him,” she said.

“Consider it done, my dear,” Louis said. “Whatever is it did you all get into? I wanted you to come here so you’d know about an important local matter that I asked Antoine to investigate, but it seems to be more than that.”

“What happened to Citizen Gaz was only the first salvo in a long line of problems with diplomacy,” Enjolras said. “It’s one reason why we can only spare a few days here in Aix.”

Louis nodded knowingly. “Does that have anything to do with why one of the neighbors, Citizenness Celeste Berlioz, was suddenly brought back to Aix in disgrace? She’d told everyone that she was heading out of town to take the waters.”

“Some of it, but it wasn’t that significant,” Eponine said, glancing momentarily at Enjolras. ‘ _She was just a small part after all in a scheme that just got worse and worse,’_ she mused silently as she reached for her husband’s hand.

Enjolras squeezed Eponine’s hand discreetly. “The matter will be taken up in a court, so it would be best to leave discussion till the verdict is handed down,” he informed Louis.

“I see,” Louis said grimly. “Well if it is that grim, let’s not sully your stay with that. For now, let’s eat well and drink to your safe return and what lies ahead.”


	78. Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been along for this installment of this AU. Especial thanks to SaoirseVictoire and Learabribage for the reviews and feedback. 
> 
> Most of all, thank you to Mikhail_Garcia for beta'ing this fic and going over my wacky ideas nearly every day. After all this story was meant to last the quarantine before we meet again. And we did.

**Chapter 78: Paris**

The bells of Paris were tolling the hour for Vespers at the same time the evening train from the Midi arrived at the Bercy station. ‘ _A view that will become more familiar to travelers as these rails grow,’_ Enjolras mused silently as he held on to Julien with one hand, and his luggage with the other. Even with the help of Eponine and her brothers, it had been quite a feat to keep Laure, Julien and Etienne from running wild during the lengthy train ride from Marseille. He took a deep breath as he caught sight of the sun now almost touching the horizon, bathing all of Paris in a much-missed golden glow. “If we ever travel this far again, it would be best when the children are a little older,” he said to Eponine as they stepped onto the station platform.

“Maybe in a year,” Eponine quipped. “I s’pose by that time the Home Office might allow us out of France again!”

Enjolras smirked before he handed over his family’s tickets and passports to the stationmaster. “Is something the matter, Citizen?” he asked, seeing the man’s astonished face.

“Citizen Enjolras, is it really you? And with your wife?” the stationmaster asked, looking at the whole family. “All of Paris has been abuzz with the news.”

“News of what, Citizen?” Eponine asked worriedly, letting go of Etienne just long enough to adjust one of her gloves.

“It’s all over the papers!” the stationmaster exclaimed. “You’ll find the latest edition of the _Moniteur_ over there,” he added as he pointed to a small shelf at a shop near the platform.

Enjolras quickly walked over to the shop and picked up one of the broadsheets folded on the rack. He gritted his teeth as he got a look at the headline: ‘ _Double-Agent Diplomat Facing Investigation: Formal Charges Filed’_. After paying for a copy of the newspaper he walked back to where Eponine was directing Jacques and Neville with claiming and unloading everyone’s luggage. “The Home Office made its move quickly,” he informed them.

Eponine cringed. “Looks like it will be a rumpus at the Hotel De Ville tomorrow.” She bit her lip as she surveyed the paper again. “I think we could work at home tomorrow, just to rest but still get things sorted.”

“That would be wise,” Enjolras concurred. He looked at his two young brothers-in-law. “Neville, this is an opportunity for you to work on your enrollment papers. Jacques, I will need your assistance with making a report.”

Jacques groaned before Neville cuffed him. “I was hoping to rest tomorrow!”

“What were you planning to do, sleep all day?” Neville asked.

“Oh you can rest a bit as long as you do get up to do some work eventually,” Eponine chided. She stood on tiptoe as if trying to catch sight of someone standing towards the exit of the Bercy station. “Azelma! Gavroche!” she called, waving to two figures who now made their appearance.

‘ _Right on time,’_ Enjolras thought as he helped Jacques and Neville carry everyone’s baggage, even as Laure and Julien ran on ahead to greet their aunt and their uncle. He met Eponine’s knowing look even as she scooped up Etienne, who was doing his best to keep up. “I would not be surprised if your brother, or even Bahorel, has a hand in this state of affairs,” he remarked.

Eponine shrugged. “Well who else could Jehan, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre readily trust that investigation to, aside from Feuilly?” She picked up the pace to meet Azelma and Gavroche, who were both getting an earful of Laure’s and Julien’s stories. “Am I glad to see you both!” she greeted, letting Etienne also toddle the last few paces even as she hugged her siblings in turn.

“Yes, even if it was naughty of you to just leave Paris without calling on us!” Azelma chided even as she hugged her sister back. “You have _no_ idea how worried I was when Bahorel and Gavroche told us something was afoot.”

“I’m not sure if anyone told you, but Feuilly went to us after finding some leads at the Home Office. Since I was shadowing that trail of mysterious Italian notes, it was easy to put things together to catch that fish,” Gavroche explained. He grinned at Enjolras. “And it was a fine fishing trip that you all went on.”

“If fish lay traps, then yes,” Enjolras quipped dryly. He now noticed that his siblings-in-law had arrived in a well-appointed carriage. “I thought I made it clear not to plan any sort of welcome celebration?” he asked.

“You told us, but you didn’t tell the Pontmercys,” Azelma pointed out. She looked at Eponine cajolingly. “Ponine, did you really want to have to cook dinner for everyone after travelling so far all day? Besides everyone wants to see you both, since it has been some time since we were _all_ in the same place!”

“I s’pose we can stay at least for dinner before the children must really be off to bed,” Eponine conceded. “No later than that.”

Laure and Julien groaned. “We aren’t sleepy yet!”

‘ _Yet knowing them, they will be as good as sleepwalking after they eat,’_ Enjolras thought even as he nodded to Azelma and Gavroche. “Just for dinner then. We still have to settle in at home,” he agreed as he began to help load the baggage and then the youngsters into the carriage.

By the time they arrived in the Marais, the sun was already setting behind the spires of Notre Dame and Paris’ other churches. “The house finally has all the lights on again!” Eponine cheered as they came in sight of 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire.

“Cosette finally decided on it,” Azelma said with undisguised relief. “I know, losing a father is hard---not that we have actually lost ours, but I was afraid she’d wither away from that grieving.”

“Zelma!”

“Why, that is what Joly was worried about. I’m sure you’ll be glad to see her happier now.”

In the meantime, Laure was wriggling restlessly in her seat and sprang out of the carriage on seeing a dark-haired little girl hopping about impatiently at the house’s entrance. “Marie-Fantine!” Laure squealed as she ran up to her friend.

Marie-Fantine Pontmercy laughed as she hugged Laure. “You’re taller than me!” the Pontmercys’ oldest daughter greeted.

“I _am_ older than you,” Laure pointed out. “And now I’m big enough to ride a horse! If I can teach you, then we can go riding together.”

“We should ask my Maman and Papa if we can, while the boys are out having their fun,” Marie-Fantine said solemnly.

‘ _More adventures afoot,’_ Enjolras thought as he helped Julien to the ground while Eponine set Etienne on his feet. He held out a hand to his wife. “Shall we?”

“I never thought you’d be so gallant, Antoine,” Eponine teased as she linked her fingers with his before they entered the house.

The front hall of the Pontmercy home was bright and bustling with conversation that instantly turned into cheers as Enjolras, Eponine, Azelma and Gavroche entered the room. “Finally, we can begin our repast!” Bahorel called from where he and his wife Therese were seated on the stairs, chatting with Grantaire, Nicholine, Combeferre and Claudine. “How was the journey back from the Midi?”

“Swift enough; you would enjoy its being uninterrupted,” Enjolras said gamely. He clasped Combeferre’s shoulder. “What about yours?”

“Pleasant for us, not for our unwanted guest that I was telling Claudine all about,” Combeferre said. “He complained the whole way.”

Claudine sighed patiently. “Who wouldn’t? It does not seem to have registered in Citizen D’Aramitz’s mind that he might be in the wrong.” She waved to Eponine, who had been swept up in conversation with Azelma and Cosette. “You _have_ to tell me all about Italy!”

“Of course I shall, give me a moment!” Eponine laughed from where Cosette was showing off a newly fashioned colored glass pendant. She quickly excused herself and raced up to Claudine. “If you give me time, I can search my valise for a book I could give you.”

“That can wait, but tell me first about what you saw,” Claudine insisted. “Is it true what they say, there’s plumbing now in Venice?”

“Something a little better than what we have here in Paris,” Eponine replied. “You remember my room at the inn?” she asked Enjolras.

“Of course I do,” Enjolras said, smiling to himself at the memory these words evoked. Amid the whole confusion of their friends moving in and out of the front hall he caught sight of Feuilly watching the proceedings as he was wont to do. Enjolras discreetly excused himself and went to speak to the diplomat. “You seem startled, my friend.”

Feuilly smiled wryly. “Courfeyrac has been gleefully explaining how harrowing the whole trip was. Though if we had known how dangerous it really was, the Home Office would have sent more reinforcements down there.”

“Harrowing is an interesting way to describe an intrigue,” Enjolras deadpanned, glancing to the next room, where most of the party as well as the children had gathered. Courfeyrac was narrating some anecdote to Marius, with occasional interruptions from Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta, and Jean Prouvaire. Also seated nearby but listening more quietly was Feuilly’s wife Leonor, and Bossuet’s wife Marthe. “I gather though that a similar investigation was also underway here in Paris, so that would have made dispatching a team to Italy rather unlikely,” he added.

“Yes, and with no end of questions after Citizen Belmont arrived with his deposition,” Feuilly said with a sigh. “It would appear that before we can champion or encourage reforms abroad that we must do some housekeeping of our own.”

“Dinner is served, Citizens and Citizennesses,” Basque the footman called.

“And on to another feast!” Gavroche crowed, patting his stomach as everyone slowly made their way to the large dining room.

Over here the table was laid out for a large feast: on one side of the table an imposing white tureen filled with a rich carrot soup sat in the midst of dishes of delicate entrees such as anchovy canapes, truffle omelets sliced into strips, and various cheese and liver spreads and pates. The other side of the table was dominated by two platters, one holding large trout in rose wine, and the other with roast shoulder of lamb with vegetables on the side. More covered dishes lined up on a side table appeared to hold desserts such as pies and custards. “You really outdid yourself this time, Cosette!” Eponine exclaimed as they took their seats.

“You also hold excellent dinners; I still cannot forget that exquisite terrine you made last year, or your stuffed eggplants,” Cosette pointed out. “Now that we are all back in Paris, we should each host a dinner to make our favorite specialties again.”

Even as the rest of the group cheered and threw in their suggestions, Enjolras heard a knock at the front door. ‘ _Who else did the Pontmercys invite?’_ he wondered even as Basque the footman quickly went to the hall.

A few moments later the footman returned with an officer of the Prefecture. “Citizen Thierry Perrot has some important messages,” Basque said, sounding embarrassed.

Bahorel and Gavroche exchanged disbelieving looks before eyeing their colleague. “What was so important that could not wait till tomorrow, Citizen?” Bahorel asked.

Perrot wiped his sweaty brow. “The subpoenas, Citizen. The courts want these served right away to the persons concerned.” He set down a sizable sheaf of letters. “These are all for Citizens Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, Feuilly, Bahorel, Joly, Bossuet, and Grantaire, as well as for Citizennesses Enjolras, Joly, and Grantaire. Your testimonies for the trial of Theophile D’Aramitz will be needed by the 5th of August.”

_To be continued_


End file.
